The Room on Rue Amélie

by Kristin Harmel

  “But the escape line has been compromised. Didn’t you hear?”

  “Yes, but I had to see you. I had to make sure you were all right.” His smile faltered. “But no one answered at your apartment, and I began to fear the worst.”

  “You were worried about me?”

  He reached for her hands, pulling her closer. He was cold, and she had the sudden, strange thought that she’d like to draw him a warm bath. “Ruby, of course.”

  “But why?”

  He looked startled. “I’ve thought of you every single day. Have you thought of me?”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  They stared at each other for another long moment, and finally, she believed. The impossible had happened; he had come back to her. But she was being careless; an old neighbor could recognize her, or worse, a collaborator or a Nazi could spot Thomas in his uniform. “Come,” she said, abruptly breaking the loaded silence between them and pulling her hands from his. “I must get you somewhere safe. Are you injured?”

  “Nothing like last time.”

  “Very well.” She forced herself to be practical, to push her feelings aside. What mattered now was getting him to safety. “We’ll need to walk a bit. To get to my new apartment, we must cross the Seine, which means you’ll be out in the open, and I’m afraid your disguise isn’t very foolproof. So instead of crossing at the Pont de l’Alma, we’ll work our way south and then west on side streets, and we’ll cross at the Pont de Passy. There’s a lower likelihood of Nazi presence there, and it’ll be easier to stick to the shadows. All right?”

  He nodded and listened carefully as she explained the route she had in mind. It would take an extra thirty minutes, which would expose him for longer, but she couldn’t simply march him through a neighborhood swarming with Germans.

  “Once we get there, you must stay in our courtyard until nightfall. I can’t bring you inside in broad daylight, just in case we’re followed. I can’t put Charlotte in danger.”

  “Your neighbor? The one whose mother I helped?”

  “Yes. She lives with me now.”

  He looked grim. “Her parents are gone?”

  “Deported more than a year ago. We’ve had no word.”

  “Ruby, I’m so sorry.”

  “I am too.” She reached for his hand, lingering longer than she should have. What if she was just a woman standing on the beautiful streets of Paris with a man she loved? It was a wonderful fantasy, but it could never be true, not as long as the war raged around them. She let go. “We must go now before someone sees us.”

  She was acutely aware of Thomas several paces behind her as she headed west along the rue de Grenelle. She wound her way southeast down smaller side streets until they’d cleared the Champ-de-Mars and the École Militaire, two places that were often bustling with Nazis. Then she turned right and right again as she wove back toward the river. She looked back a few times and was relieved to see Thomas hugging the shadows, his head down. A few people stopped and stared, but they passed very few German soldiers, and the ones they did see were too preoccupied with their own conversations to give them a second glance.

  When they finally turned onto the rue de Lasteyrie, Ruby nodded toward the entrance to the courtyard and let herself into the building through the front door. She watched from her window as Thomas sat down in the shade, his back against the building. He was here; he was really here. Now there was nothing to do but wait.

  CHARLOTTE HAD LEFT A NOTE saying that she’d be spending a few hours with Lucien that afternoon, so Ruby was alone in the apartment. As she waited for night to fall, she felt like a giddy schoolgirl, changing into a cotton dress she hadn’t worn in more than a year and rummaging through a small box of odds and ends until she found a stubby red lipstick that she’d put away after Marcel had died.

  Daylight had vanished by five-thirty, and there was a soft knock at the door. Ruby opened it to find Thomas standing there, his cheeks pink from the evening chill. For a moment, they just stared at each other, and then his arms were around her, and his mouth was on hers. Ruby pulled him into the apartment and fumbled with the lock, and then she found herself pressed against the door, her whole body on fire.

  “I’ve missed you, Ruby,” he murmured, drawing back to gaze into her eyes.

  “I’ve missed you too.”

  “I thought of you every time I flew over France.”

  “But why? I’m just a woman who helped you long ago. Aren’t I?”

  He kissed her again. “You’re the person I think of each time I take off. You’re my good luck charm. I’ve spent the last two years not knowing if you were dead or alive. Standing here in front of you now feels like a miracle.”

  “I think of you all the time too, Thomas.” She wanted to lead him to her bedroom, to feel his body against hers the way she’d hardly dared imagine, but Charlotte would be home soon. Besides, Thomas had been walking for days and was covered in grime; surely he’d want to feel like himself again. “Why don’t you freshen up? I’ve drawn you a bath and laid out a fresh set of clothes for you.”

  “Your husband’s?”

  “No, I don’t have any of his things anymore. I keep spare clothes on hand now in case pilots are sent my way.”

  His smile faltered, and he took a small step back. “So there have been others you’ve helped? Others like me?”

  “Thomas,” she said softly, holding his gaze, “there is no one like you.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  November 1943

  While Thomas bathed, Ruby paced the apartment. She couldn’t stop thinking about the feel of his body, the way his mouth had lingered on hers.

  When he emerged thirty minutes later, freshly shaven and dressed in gray slacks and a white shirt, he looked like a different person. His dark hair was still damp and curled at the ends, framing his chiseled face perfectly.

  “You’re staring,” he said softly, smiling at her.

  She looked away, embarrassed. “I was just thinking that it must feel nice to be clean after your long journey.”

  “Oh, is that all you were thinking?” His tone was light, teasing.

  “I might also have been thinking that you are even more handsome than I remember.”

  His smile widened. “So you have been thinking of me.”

  “All the time.” She took a deep breath. “We had a pilot here in January who said he knew you. Jon Payne. He was captured in Urrugne soon after.”

  “I heard about Urrugne. Poor Payne. He was here?”

  “I—I couldn’t believe how relieved I felt when he told me you were still alive, Thomas. I had no way of knowing, although I had the strangest feeling that I would have sensed it if you were gone.”

  He took a few steps closer to her until they were standing just inches apart. He grazed her cheek with his thumb, as if he couldn’t quite believe she was real. “And you’ve continued to work on the escape line, Ruby?”

  “Until the arrests in Urrugne. We’ve been inactive since the winter. I’m very sorry, Thomas; I don’t have any way to get you out of France right now.”

  “I know.”

  “And you still came to me?”

  “I had to.”

  They stared at each other for a moment. “I—I suppose you could try to venture out on your own, since you’ve made it out of France before. Or—” She paused and glanced up at him before returning her gaze to the floor. “Or you could stay here until we can find you a safe way out.”

  “But won’t I be putting you in danger?”

  She took a deep breath and looked into his eyes. “Any risk would be worth it, just to have you here.”

  “You mean that?”

  “But perhaps it’s foolish of me to suggest—”

  He didn’t wait for her to finish. He pulled her into his arms, covering her mouth with his. When their lips met, she had the sudden, strange sensation that she was floating. He folded her in closer, and she could feel his body pressing against hers as his tongue soft
ly parted her lips. She let out a small, unintentional moan, and he started to back away, but she grabbed his collar and drew him closer. She didn’t want this to stop. Ever.

  But then there was the sound of the front door opening and closing, and they both pulled away, startled.

  “Thomas?” Charlotte was framed in the doorway, her mouth hanging open as she stared at them. Lucien was behind her, his eyebrows arched in surprise.

  “Um, yes, hello, Charlotte,” Thomas said, taking a step back from Ruby. “Lovely to see you again.”

  “What are you doing here?” Charlotte asked.

  “Don’t you think we’d better go inside before someone sees us?” Lucien hurried her into the living room and shut the door. “Hello,” he said to Thomas. “I’m Lucien, Charlotte’s friend. And you, it appears, are Ruby’s friend.”

  “Yes, ah,” Thomas said in French, clearly still struggling to regain his composure. “Nice to meet you. I’m Thomas.”

  “The Thomas?” Lucien asked. “The pilot?”

  Thomas raised an eyebrow at Ruby and smiled. “Indeed.”

  Lucien grinned. “Well then! Welcome back.”

  OVER THE NEXT SEVERAL WEEKS, life changed for everyone inside the apartment on the rue de Lasteyrie. Ruby was happier than she’d ever been. She was in love, and she couldn’t bear the thought that she’d have to let Thomas go once again. But she knew that Lucien was making inquiries about escape routes, and that as soon as they found one, Thomas would be on his way. Each day together could be the last.

  They’d fallen into a routine; in the mornings, Charlotte, Ruby, and Thomas would drink their weak grain coffee and eat small slices of stale bread together, and then Ruby would head out with ration cards, and Charlotte would leave with Lucien. She was officially his assistant now; she came home with ink-stained hands late each afternoon having spent the day forging papers for Jews in hiding and people who were part of the Resistance.

  When Ruby returned from standing in hours-long ration lines each day, she’d knock three times on the sliding wall in her bedroom. Thomas would unfold himself from the closet, stretch his hands over his head as he climbed out, and smile that dimpled, crooked smile that always made Ruby’s heart melt. “What’s for dinner?” he would ask, winking at her, and she’d answer with something ridiculous, such as “Chateaubriand and caviar, of course.”

  They’d spend the next hour or two holding hands and talking until Charlotte arrived home. Ruby couldn’t ask Thomas enough questions; she wanted to know everything about him. She delighted in answering his endless questions about her life too. She told him about her parents, what it had been like to grow up in Southern California, what New York was like in the springtime. He knew now that she hated mushrooms and loved baked pears, that she preferred big band music to jazz, that her favorite movie was Camille, and that she sometimes had nightmares about falling from the edge of a cliff into a black abyss. He, in turn, talked of his childhood in London, the games he used to play with his schoolmates, and the way he missed his mother every day. He told her what it felt like to be 14,000 feet in the air in the tiny cockpit of a Spitfire, how frightened he’d felt the first time he stalled in midair, how he sometimes felt racked with guilt over the German lives he’d taken.

  Sometimes, they didn’t talk at all; they would sit on the couch and then his lips would be on hers, and they’d kiss until Charlotte came home. It never went further than that, though. Ruby had learned to be careful with her heart, and even though she knew she was already deeply in love with him, she worried what would happen once he was gone. Now wasn’t the time to be foolhardy about anything. His life was in her hands, as was Charlotte’s, and she couldn’t do anything to put either of them in jeopardy. She loved them both too much.

  But everything changed on the fourth Thursday in November. At home in the States, it was Thanksgiving, and Ruby felt dejected all day thinking of her parents, aunts, uncles, and cousins gathered around the dinner table without her, holding hands and probably praying for her. Did they believe she was dead? Now that the United States was involved in the war, were the American papers filled with news of what was happening here? Could they imagine what her life had become? On a holiday like this, she couldn’t help but feel terribly homesick.

  The lines at the butcher and baker were shorter than usual, and Ruby returned to the apartment more than an hour earlier than she had expected. Charlotte was out for the day, and Thomas looked surprised to see Ruby when she knocked on the hidden closet door. “Did you not make it to the shops?” he asked as he climbed out and followed her into the kitchen.

  “No, I did.” She gestured to the small amount of food she’d placed on the dining table. “I thought perhaps I’d try to prepare something special for us tonight. It’s a special holiday back in the United States.” She told him about how her family would get together for roast turkey, cranberry sauce, and sweet potatoes. “I miss my family terribly. Of course I also miss roast turkey. Wouldn’t that taste amazing right now?”

  Thomas drew her into his arms. “We could use our imaginations. We’ll have a feast!”

  “I do have a few bottles of wine left. Perhaps we can open one tonight.”

  “That sounds wonderful.” He kissed her, long and hard. “We’ll have potatoes for turkey. And this bread for the cranberry sauce.”

  “Someday, when this war is over, you can come to my parents’ house for a real Thanksgiving meal.”

  “I would love that.” Thomas was watching her closely and she could feel her cheeks turning warm.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I—I shouldn’t have said that. I know we don’t talk about the future.”

  “I’m very glad you did,” Thomas said after a moment. He pulled her closer. “I hope you know, Ruby, that it has always been my plan to come back for you after the war ends. It has been since we first met. I will come for you.” He paused and waited for her to meet his gaze. “If you want me to.”

  “Of course I do,” she whispered. “But I don’t want you to feel obligated.”

  He looked surprised. “Obligated? Ruby, I love you.”

  “You do?”

  “Can’t you see that?”

  And then, at once, she could. She’d known it all along, she supposed, but it was easier not to acknowledge it, not to open her eyes. “I love you too,” she whispered.

  “Good.”

  This time, when his lips touched hers, his kiss felt different than it had before. It was tentative but urgent, and she could taste the question on his tongue. Her answer was to burrow against him, making sure that she wasn’t holding back.

  In a moment, his hands were under her dress, coarse and warm against her skin. “Ruby?” he murmured, and she understood that he was asking for her permission to go further.

  “Yes,” she breathed, and then her dress was in a pool on the kitchen floor, followed by his shirt. His hands were all over her body, and her hands on his, and it was like nothing she had ever experienced before. It had certainly never felt like this with Marcel, who relied on the same rapid series of caresses each time, a dance that had clearly been choreographed long before she arrived.

  With Thomas, though, everything felt new; there was nothing rushed or planned about it. When he picked her up and carried her into the bedroom, she’d never felt more alive.

  They made love twice, the first time urgently, the second time slowly and tenderly, gazing into each other’s eyes. And for the first time in more than three years, the war slipped away. It didn’t matter that Europe was being torn apart, that Paris was bleeding. The only thing that meant anything was this.

  Afterward, as she lay in his arms listening to his heartbeat, reality began to crash back in. Charlotte would be home soon, bringing the outside world with her. Thomas would leave one day—maybe even one day soon—and they were all in danger all the time. How she wished she could take his hand and stroll out into the open with him, walk across the bridges of Paris, stroll through the gardens and museums,
kiss him for everyone to see. But it was impossible, and soon, she would have to leave the cocoon of his arms and resume living in the real world.

  For now, though, she nestled closer, breathing in the scent of him, allowing herself to dream, just for a moment, of a future in which this could be their reality.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  December 1943

  Hanukkah began on December 22 that year, and although it was too risky to have a menorah, Ruby, Thomas, and Lucien joined Charlotte in lighting a single white candle on the first night of the Festival of Lights.

  “Blessed are you, Lord our God, king of the universe, who sanctified us with His commandments and commanded us to kindle the Hanukkah light,” Charlotte recited solemnly, her eyes closed, while the four of them held hands. “Blessed are you, Lord our God, king of the universe, who performed miracles for our forefathers in those days, at this time. Blessed are you, Lord our God, king of the universe, who has granted us life, sustained us, and enabled us to reach this occasion.” She opened her eyes and looked up with a half smile. “I might have gotten some of the words wrong. It was my papa who used to say the blessings.”

  “It sounded beautiful, Charlotte,” Lucien assured her. “Should we say a prayer for your parents too?”

  Her eyes filled with tears, and she nodded. Ruby waited for her to speak, but instead, the girl closed her eyes and remained silent. When she opened them again, she looked somber. “My prayers for them were in my heart. God knows what I was asking.”

  “Amen,” Thomas murmured, and Ruby and Lucien followed suit.

  They gathered each night to light the same candle again, and on the twenty-fifth, they celebrated Christmas together too. There were no presents, no tree, no feast, but the four of them were together, and that felt, to Ruby, like the greatest gift she could ask for. They had become a family, somehow, and though she’d never been a very religious person, she couldn’t help but feel that God was with them. God is present wherever love can be found, her mother used to say.