Page 26 of After Paris

Chapter Twenty-Six

Ruby

Sunday, July 6, 2025

7:00 a.m.

I woke to the sound of a door opening and then the smell of coffee. When I rolled on my side, I glanced at the pillow beside me and at the imprint of Jeff’s head. Jeff. So much for boundaries and keeping my distance. Last night had been great, but it would make the ending all that more difficult. And if life had taught me anything, endings were inevitable.

Sitting up, I found a smile as Jeff wrestled a coffee cup holder with three large cups and a bag from the Union Street Bakery.

“Three cups?” I asked.

His thick hair was finger-combed back now, but I’d fisted it in my hands last night as I’d come. Twice. “You could always drink more coffee than most humans.”

The strap of my silk cami fell off my shoulder, exposing a little side boob and my PICC line scar. “Guilty.”

“A sugar and two creams, unless that’s changed.”

“That thankfully has not.”

He sat on the edge of the bed and handed me a cup. A slight smile tipped his lips as he raised his cup to his mouth.

“Feeling pretty proud of yourself, aren’t you?” I teased.

He grinned. “I like to think I have a few moves.”

“You do indeed.” I took a long sip of coffee, wishing he weren’t such a great guy.

He opened the bakery bag and peered inside. “A couple of cookies, bagels, and cinnamon buns.”

“You’re trying to make me fat.”

“You have a few pounds to gain back.”

He was right. When I was sick, I’d lost thirty pounds, and as of this week, I’d gained twenty pounds back. “You keep feeding me, and I’ll have the last ten back in no time flat.”

“That’s the plan.” He kissed me gently on the lips.

“I hate to break up this party, but I have an appointment with Madame Bernard today. She’s told me she has letters for me.”

“Letters?”

“She didn’t say from whom, but she sounded anxious to share them.”

“She’s embraced this project, hasn’t she?”

The coffee cup warmed my fingers. “Sharing her mother’s story with me has been like opening Pandora’s box. She expected a quick peek, but now all the unsaid memories are flying out.”

“She has no one left to discuss her mother and the past with. You’ve been a gift for her.”

“She’s been a gift to me. Last year, I felt alone in my life-and-death struggle, but Sylvia’s diary entries have shown me many have suffered far worse than me.”

His brow knotted. “I’m sorry you felt alone.”

I took his hand in mine. “It’s no one’s fault. Survival, the will to live, is a solitary sport.”

“What time does she want to see you?”

“Noon.”

He raised his brows. “Four hours. It only takes you three hours to get dressed?”

I smiled. “Give or take.”

“That leaves a little extra time.”

My skin warmed as he rubbed his thumb against my palm. “Aren’t you tired?”

“No. You?”

I’d have to end this with Jeff. It wasn’t fair to saddle him with a life of uncertainty. “Not exactly.”

He waggled his brows. “Oh, really?”

I leaned forward and kissed him, tasting cinnamon and sugar. “I can get dressed in two hours.”

He took my coffee cup and set it beside his on the end table. “I thrive on deadlines.”

When I arrived at Madame Bernard’s town house, the clock in a nearby church rattled off the first of its twelve chimes. I knocked. I ran my fingers down pearl buttons skimming the length of a green dress with butterfly sleeves, a fitted bodice, and a skirt that brushed below my knees. Beige espadrille wedge shoes, gold hoop earrings, and a straw purse finished the look.

Madame answered the door seconds after I knocked, as if she’d been waiting. “Bonjour,” she said, kissing each of my cheeks.

“Bonjour. How are you doing?”

“Very well.” She regarded me closely. “And I would say you’re doing very well. There’s color in your cheeks. The fireworks over the Potomac keep you up?”

“A friend met me for dinner. He’s quite charming.”

“I would say he’s more than charming.” She waved me inside.

I chuckled. “It was a lovely evening.”

“I miss being young and enjoying evenings like that.” As she closed the door, her gaze grew wistful. “My mother was always careful about who I dated. I didn’t experience real romance until I could study in London.”

“How did your mother feel about you traveling to England?”

“She wasn’t happy, but my father talked her into letting me go. I didn’t understand, but now I see that her worries were justified. When I went abroad during college, she warned me not to cross the English Channel to France.”

“But ...”

She led me down the center hallway toward a large kitchen. Our prior meetings had been in the house’s formal parlor, but now she’d invited me into the kitchen, the space reserved for family and close friends.

Madame set out a plate of small sandwiches, soup, and a pitcher of iced tea. “I thought if I was going to drag you here during the lunch hour, I should at least feed you. You and your friend didn’t have an early lunch, right?”

I set my purse on a tall chair. “Just time for coffee.”

“Good for you.”

We sat at the table and talked as she served me two small sandwiches with the crusts cut off. “My mother said sandwiches were so American. But I’ve always loved them.”

“They look amazing.” I poured iced tea for us both, opened a white cloth napkin, and spread it over my lap. “You didn’t have to go to all this trouble.”

“It’s no trouble. It’s refreshing to have someone to cook for. Cooking for one is never quite as satisfying.”

I dipped a spoon into the soup. Leek and onion. “So delicious.”

“My mother wasn’t much of a cook. She could do anything with a needle and thread, but cooking wasn’t her gift. But she loved food. We often went out to eat, and she would put a lot of thought into the restaurant, their specialties, and even what day they had their fish delivered.”

“In her diary, she speaks often about hunger, the food lines, and the women desperate to feed their children.”

“The war didn’t leave any ordinary Parisienne unmarked. The women were alone. Their husbands, fathers, and brothers were either at war, dead, or in a labor camp.”

“Sylvia had been alone for some time when the war started.”

Madame’s expression softened with sadness. “She remained alone because of her Jewish heritage, and the German army that she knew was marching toward France. Anyone who might have loved her would have been at risk if her heritage was revealed.”

“Most in 1930s Paris believed the destruction in the east would never reach them.”

“It’s difficult to accept that the world is turning against you.”

How long had I ignored my growing fatigue, headaches, and muscle pain before I was forced to see a doctor? “Did your mother ever talk about her father?”

“She reminisced about the days when she was very young, but she never discussed the war times or her heritage.”

I hesitated before I broached my next question. “Your mother was attracted to a German soldier.”

“Ah, Hauptmann Otto Wolfgang. A complicated man.”

“How so?”

“Paris was a dream for him. He was a simple man handed a platter of the ultimate pleasures.”

“He didn’t know Sylvia’s family history?”

“My mother could hide her identity because of her fair complexion and her perfect French. Few asked many questions about her past, and when they did, she said she was from Alsace. An easy lie in those days. Everyone in Alsace had a slight accent, and most could speak German.”

“I’d love to ask what happened between Sylvia and Otto.”

She dipped her spoon in her soup. “Again, the story must unfold.”

“Will your mother reveal what happened to Cécile?”

“You shall see.”

We ate our lunches, shifting our conversation to polite topics. We shared our favorite haunts in Paris and our longing to return to the city.

“When will you return?” she asked.

“I will one day, but for now, I must stay close to home.”

“Because of your illness?”

“I used to be so brave, but cancer reminded me I’m very human. I have a big checkup in a few weeks. After that, I might be able to release the breath I’ve been holding for the last three years.”

“I have decided to return to Provence,” she said. “I’d come to believe I was too old, but going through all the papers and clothes has rekindled a desire I thought long dead.”

“When will you leave?”

“October. It’s my favorite time of year. I have rented a house near Avignon and plan to stay for a month. I don’t want to rush this trip and must savor it all.”

“Will you go to Paris?”

“I think not. Paris was an ending for my mother. Avignon was a beginning for her.”

“She lived in Avignon?” This information was my first clue to her future, which I’d become very invested in.

“You’ll see.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re quite the tease, madame.”

She looked very pleased with herself. I suspected she’d longed to tell this story for some time and wouldn’t rush the ending. “Glad to see I haven’t lost my touch.”

Madame took one bite of the sandwich. Our conversation shifted to fashion and movies, and when we finished, I cleared the plates as she set coffee on the table. While she arranged cookies on a plate, I poured the coffee.

When she retook her seat, she set a stack of letters on the table. “These are letters between Cécile and her prewar Avignon lover. The first letter is from him, but she only saved one of his. The rest are hers, written to him.”

“She never mailed the letters.”

“When Germany divided France, it became tough to exchange letters over the line of demarcation, which divided France in two. The censors read everything. But she must have needed to put her thoughts onto the page.”

The collection must have contained twenty letters, held together by a fading purple ribbon. The faint scent of lavender rose from the yellowing, brittle pages.

“All these memories are very precious to me,” madame said softly. “I thought I would never share them with anyone other than my daughter. But she’s passed, and then you arrived. A miracle, I think. It’s time to turn over the memories so people don’t forget women like my mother and Cécile. They risked their lives to resist the Germans.”

“I’m sure there are very private moments in these letters.”

“There’s no more reason to keep them secret any longer,” she said. “And sharing them will remind the world that there are those who rose above the masses and did great things without anyone noticing.”

“I’m honored.”

Her left shoulder lifted in a slight shrug. “It’s time.”