Christmas 2010

Dear Friends,

Merry Christmas! As I’ve mentioned before, I’m a Christmas kind of girl. And I can’t think of any Christmas more special than one in Cedar Cove. That’s why I wrote A Cedar Cove Christmas, which was published as a small hardcover a couple of years ago. In it, I introduced the character of Mary Jo Wyse. Mary Jo comes to Cedar Cove on Christmas Eve, pregnant and unmarried and looking for a hotel room. I also introduced her irrepressible brothers, the three Wyse men. By now, I’m sure it’s obvious that I was retelling the original Christmas story. I had a lot of fun with that, right down to the little drummer boy—but I’m getting ahead of myself. If you haven’t read the story yet, I don’t want to spoil it for you. And if you have, you’ll see that I’ve included extra content in the form of a prologue. Time doesn’t stand still in Cedar Cove!

Soon after A Cedar Cove Christmas was published, my readers asked if the story would ever come out in paperback. The answer is yes—here it is—but as you probably know, I want you to think of me as a value-added author. So I wanted to give you something more…. 5-B Poppy Lane was part of an anthology published four years ago. Again, I’ve written a prologue and also an epilogue to frame the story and offer a bit of Christmas spirit. I wrote this in honor of my father, who was a POW during World War II. 5-B Poppy Lane is, of course, an address in Cedar Cove; it’s also a story of romance and adventure, and I’m confident you’ll enjoy it.

I’m delighted that you’re joining me in my favorite town at my favorite time of year!

As always, I love getting your comments. You can reach me at P.O. Box 1458, Port Orchard, WA 98366 or via my website at www.DebbieMacomber.com. May your Christmas be filled with the warmth and joy of the season.

Praise for #1 New York Times bestselling author

DEBBIE MACOMBER

“Familiar townspeople, three impulsive brothers…and a pair of appealing protagonists bring to life this sweet, humorous romance that, with its many obvious parallels, is a satisfying, almost tongue-in-cheek retelling of the Christmas story.”

—Library Journal

“It’s just not Christmas without a Debbie Macomber story and A Cedar Cove Christmas is no exception.”

—Armchair Interviews

“[A] wonderful, emotional and uplifting story. Debbie Macomber, one of the best wordsmiths in the business, has gifted readers with one of the sweetest stories ever to be written for the Christmas season. The storyline is right from the Good Book, and the characters are from the author’s heart. Most of Cedar Cove’s residents make a personal appearance to meet Mary Jo, and several new residents are on hand. This feel-good story is full of love, humor and enough ‘warm fuzzies’ to last you throughout the holiday season.”

—ReaderToReader.com

“You need look no further for the perfect Christmas gift than A Cedar Cove Christmas by Debbie Macomber.

This precious love story will be the most beloved Christmas gift under any one’s tree, or in their stocking.”

—SingleTitles.com

5-B Poppy Lane “is a beautiful story that might bring tears to your eyes. Ruth, Paul and Helen are great characters: believable and real ones that you can take to your heart and hold closely.”

—ReaderToReader.com

“The books in Macomber’s contemporary Cedar Cove series are…irresistibly delicious and addictive.”

—Publishers Weekly

DEBBIE
MACOMBER
CHRISTMAS
IN CEDAR COVE

Other Books by Debbie Macomber

Blossom Street Books

The Shop on Blossom Street

A Good Yarn

Susannah’s Garden

Back on Blossom Street

Twenty Wishes

Summer on Blossom Street

Hannah’s List

Cedar Cove Books

16 Lighthouse Road

204 Rosewood Lane

311 Pelican Court

44 Cranberry Point

50 Harbor Street

6 Rainier Drive

74 Seaside Avenue

8 Sandpiper Way

92 Pacific Boulevard

1022 Evergreen Place

A Cedar Cove Christmas

The Manning Family

The Manning Sisters

The Manning Brides

The Manning Grooms

Christmas Books

A Gift to Last

On a Snowy Night

Home for the Holidays

Glad Tidings

Christmas Wishes

Small Town Christmas

When Christmas Comes

There’s Something About Christmas

Christmas Letters

Where Angels Go

The Perfect Christmas

Angels at Christmas

(Those Christmas Angels and Where Angels Go)

Call Me Mrs. Miracle

Dakota Series

Dakota Born

Dakota Home

Always Dakota

Heart of Texas Series

VOLUME 1

(Lonesome Cowboy and Texas Two-Step)

VOLUME 2

(Caroline’s Child and Dr. Texas)

VOLUME 3

(Nell’s Cowboy and Lone Star Baby)

Promise, Texas

Return to Promise

Midnight Sons

VOLUME 1

(Brides for Brothers and The Marriage Risk)

VOLUME 2

(Daddy’s Little Helper and Because of the Baby)

VOLUME 3

(Falling for Him, Ending in Marriage and Midnight Sons and Daughters)

This Matter of Marriage

Montana

Thursdays at Eight

Between Friends

Changing Habits

Married in Seattle

(First Comes Marriage and Wanted: Perfect Partner)

Right Next Door

(Father’s Day and The Courtship of Carol Sommars)

Wyoming Brides

(Denim and Diamonds and The Wyoming Kid)

Fairy Tale Weddings

(Cindy and the Prince and Some Kind of Wonderful)

The Man You’ll Marry

(The First Man You Meet and The Man You’ll Marry)

Orchard Valley Grooms

(Valerie and Stephanie)

Orchard Valley Brides

(Norah and Lone Star Lovin’)

Debbie Macomber’s

Cedar Cove Cookbook

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Some of the Residents of Cedar Cove, Washington

Charlotte Jefferson Rhodes: Mother of Olivia and of Will Jefferson. Now married to widower Ben Rhodes, who has two sons, David and Steven, neither of whom lives in Cedar Cove. Charlotte and Ben live on Eagle Crest Avenue.

Olivia Lockhart Griffin: Family Court judge. Mother of Justine and of James (who lives in San Diego). Married to Jack Griffin, editor of the Cedar Cove Chronicle. Their home is at 16 Lighthouse Road.

Justine (Lockhart) Gunderson: Daughter of Olivia. Mother of Leif. Married to Seth Gunderson. Their home is 6 Rainier Drive.

Will Jefferson: Olivia’s brother, Charlotte’s son. Formerly of Atlanta. Divorced, retired and back in Cedar Cove, where he has recently bought the local art gallery.

Grace Sherman Harding: Olivia’s lifelong best friend. Librarian. Widow of Dan Sherman. Mother of Maryellen Bowman and Kelly Jordan. Married to Cliff Harding, a horse breeder living in Olalla, near Cedar Cove. Cliff has a married daughter, Lisa.

Maryellen Bowman: Oldest daughter of Grace and Dan Sherman. Mother of Katie and Drake. Married to Jon Bowman, photographer.

Bob and Peggy Beldon: Retired. Own the Thyme and Tide B & B at 44 Cranberry Point.

Roy McAfee: Private investigator, retired from Seattle police force. Three adult children—Mack, Linnette and Gloria. Married to Corrie, who works as his office manager. The McAfees live at 50 Harbor Street.

Linnette McAfee: Daughter of Roy and Corrie. A physician assistant, she now lives in North Dakota.

Mack McAfee: Son of Roy and Corrie, brother of Linnette. Fireman and EMT in Cedar Cove.

Gloria Ashton: Deputy in Cedar Cove Sheriff’s Department. Daughter of Roy and Corrie, born prior to their marriage and adopted by the Ashton family of California as a newborn.

Troy Davis: Sheriff of Cedar Cove.

Pastor Dave Flemming: Local Methodist minister. He and his wife, Emily, are the parents of Matthew and Mark.

Shirley Bliss: Widow and fabric artist, mother of Tannith (Tanni) Bliss.

Shaw Wilson: Friend of Tanni’s. Works at Mocha Mama, a local coffee shop.

Helen Shelton: Widow and friend of Charlotte Rhodes. Helen lives at 5-B Poppy Lane.

CONTENTS

5-B Poppy Lane

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Epilogue

A Cedar Cove Christmas

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

5-B POPPY LANE

To my parents

Ted and Connie Adler

who married July 25, 1942,

before my father

headed off to war

Prologue

It was early afternoon, Christmas Eve. Snow was falling lightly, adding to the festive atmosphere inside and out. Helen Shelton fussed with the decorations in her small Cedar Cove duplex, making sure everything was in place. The tree, a real one, featured the ornaments she’d started acquiring when she’d married Sam in 1946. He’d bought her many of these, and as she hung them carefully on the branches she’d relived their history, hers and Sam’s. He’d died almost thirty years ago but she remembered every Christmas they’d spent together.

The Nativity pieces were arranged on her coffee table with the Infant Jesus nestled in the manger, surrounded by the other familiar figurines. A large evergreen wreath hung on her front door. The house was redolent with the scents of spruce and spice—ready for Christmas.

Helen wanted everything perfect when her only granddaughter and her husband arrived. In preparation she’d mulled cider and baked Ruth’s favorite Christmas cookies from an old gingerbread recipe; they’d first made it together when Ruth was a child. Even now, after all these years, Helen remembered the thrill she’d felt when her granddaughter was born. Oh, she loved her grandsons, but for a grandmother there was something special about a girl.

The doorbell chimed and Helen peeked outside to see her dear friend Charlotte Rhodes standing on the porch. Delighted, she opened the door and quickly ushered Charlotte inside. They were both getting on in years, and Helen suspected neither of them had many Christmases left. She didn’t have a fatalistic view of life by any means, but she was a practical woman. Helen knew what it was to face death. She had no fear of dying.

“Merry Christmas,” Charlotte said, unwrapping a hand-knit lace scarf from around her neck. Her friend was the most exquisite knitter. Many a time she’d assisted Helen with her knitting projects. She gave her the confidence to try new things. Why, with Charlotte’s help a few years back, Helen had completed a complicated Fair Isle sweater. She still felt a bit of pride whenever she wore that sweater. She was a competent knitter in her own right; she didn’t mean to discount her skills. But Charlotte had such an encouraging way about her, and not just when it came to knitting. Helen had confided in Charlotte about what had happened to her during the war, and Charlotte had urged her to share it with her family. Eventually, she had…

“Merry Christmas,” Helen said, taking Charlotte’s coat and scarf and hanging them up. She led her friend into the kitchen. “This is such a pleasant surprise.”

“I knew your granddaughter and her husband were stopping by, so I brought some of my green tomato mincemeat.” She removed two beribboned jars from her ever-present knitting bag.

“Oh, Charlotte, thank you.” Helen accepted the jars and put them on the counter to admire. Charlotte was well aware that Helen had a weakness for her homemade green tomato mincemeat.

“Consider this a small Christmas gift,” Charlotte said, looking pleased at Helen’s reaction.

“Didn’t you say it was too much work this year?” Helen could swear Charlotte had claimed she was finished with canning. And who would blame her?

“I did say that, and then I took a look at all those green tomatoes and I couldn’t help myself. Besides, Ben swears mincemeat is his favorite pie.”

“I thought your peach pie was his favorite.”

Charlotte actually blushed. Those two had been married for several years now but they still behaved like newlyweds. It always made Helen smile.

“Ben says that about all my pies.”

“Well, I’m very happy to get these. I’ll make a pie for tonight’s dessert.” Helen automatically set the teakettle on the burner, dropping teabags in her best china pot.

“What time is your granddaughter getting here?”

Helen glanced at the kitchen clock. “Not for several hours. Around five.”

Charlotte pulled out a chair and sat down, reaching into her voluminous bag for her knitting. Socks again. Charlotte was never without her knitting, and these days it was usually socks. Helen had recently made socks, too, but not ones you’d wear. She’d knit both Ruth and Paul Christmas stockings to hang by the fireplace. Because of the intricate pattern, it had taken her the better part of three months. She planned to give them their made-with-love Christmas stockings when they exchanged gifts that evening.

It wasn’t long before the tea was ready and the two of them sat across the table from each other, a plate of the gingerbread cookies between them.

“I’ve met your granddaughter, haven’t I?” Charlotte asked, picking up her teacup and frowning slightly.

“Yes, don’t you recall? Ruth certainly remembers you.”

“She does?”

“It was a few years ago. She was in quite a state when she came by to visit. She was absolutely beside herself because she wasn’t sure what to do about Paul.”

Charlotte looked confused.

“That was shortly after they met,” Helen explained, surprised her friend had apparently forgotten the episode, since Charlotte had answered Ruth’s knock at the door. “They’d been corresponding for a while. Paul was in the marines. Well, he still is, but that’s not the point.”

Charlotte chose a cookie. “It’s coming back to me now,” she said. “They had a lovely romance, didn’t they?”

“Oh, yes.”

She took a bite. “Mmm. Delicious. Now, remind me again how they met.”

Helen settled back in her chair and picked up her own cup of tea. This was such a wonderful story. Her own love story was part of it, too. All those years ago during the Second World War. There were fewer and fewer people who knew what that war had really been like.

For more than fifty years she’d refused to talk about that time, refused to even think about her adventures and ordeals. She’d lost so much—and yet, she’d gained, too. At the urging of the few friends she’d confided in, including Charlotte, she’d finally told Ruth what had happened. Ruth and her Paul. Afterward, her granddaughter had said that her experiences were more than family history; they were history.

“Helen,” Charlotte murmured, shaking her out of her reverie. “You were going to tell me about Ruth and Paul.”

“Oh, yes. The story of how they fell in love…” She settled back, listening to the comforting click of Charlotte’s needles, and began.

One

Ruth Shelton hurried out of her classroom-management lecture at the University of Washington, where she was completing her master’s of education degree. Clutching her books, she dashed across campus, in a rush to get home. By now the mail would have been delivered to her small rental house three blocks from the school.

“Ruth,” Tina Dupont called, stopping her in midflight. “There’s another antiwar rally this afternoon at—”

“Sorry, I’ve got to run,” Ruth said, jogging past her friend and feeling more than a little guilty. Other students cleared a path for her; wherever she was headed must have seemed urgent—and it was, but only to her. Since Christmas, four months ago, she’d been corresponding with Sergeant Paul Gordon, USMC, who was stationed in Afghanistan. There’d been recent reports of fighting, and she hadn’t received a letter or an email from Paul in three days. Three interminable days. Not since they’d initially begun their correspondence had there been such a lapse. Paul usually wrote every day and she did, too. They emailed as often as possible. Ruth had strong feelings about the war in Iraq, although her opinions didn’t match those of her parents.

Earlier in the school year, Ruth had been part of a protest rally on campus. But no matter what her political views on the subject, she felt it was important to support American troops wherever they might be serving. In an effort to do that, Ruth had voluntarily mailed a Christmas card and letter to a nameless soldier.

Paul Gordon was the young man who’d received that Christmas card, and to Ruth’s surprise he’d written her back and enclosed his photograph. Paul was from Seattle and he’d chosen her card because of the Seattle postmark. He’d asked her lots of questions—about her history, her family, her interests—and closed with a postscript that said he hoped to hear from her again.

When she first got his letter, Ruth had hesitated. She felt she’d done her duty, supported the armed services in a way she was comfortable doing. This man she’d never met was asking her to continue corresponding with him. She wasn’t sure she wanted to become that involved. Feeling uncertain, she’d waited a few days before deciding.

During that time, Ruth had read and reread his letter and studied the head shot of the clean-cut handsome marine sergeant in dress uniform. His dark brown eyes had seemed to stare straight through her—and directly into her heart. After two days, she answered his letter with a short one of her own and added her email address at the bottom of the page. Ruth had a few concerns she wanted him to address before she could commit herself to beginning this correspondence. Being as straightforward and honest as possible, she explained her objections to the war in Iraq. She felt there was a more legitimate reason for troops to be in Afghanistan and wanted to know his stand. A few days later he emailed her. Paul didn’t mince words. He told her he believed the United States had done the right thing in entering Iraq and gave his reasons. He left it up to her to decide if she wanted to continue their correspondence. Ruth emailed him back and once again listed her objections to the American presence in the Middle East. His response came a day later, suggesting they “agree to disagree.” He ended the email with the same question he’d asked her earlier. Would she write him?

At first, Ruth wasn’t going to. They were diametrically opposed in their political views. But in the end, even recognizing the conflict between their opinions, she did write. Their correspondence started slowly. She enjoyed his wry wit and his unflinching determination to make a difference in the world. His father had fought in Vietnam, he said, and in some ways the war in Afghanistan seemed similar—the hostile terrain, the unpredictability of the enemy, the difficult conditions. For her part, she mentioned that at twenty-five she’d returned to school to obtain her master’s of education degree. Then, gradually, without being fully aware of how it had happened, Ruth found herself spending part of every day writing or emailing Paul. Despite the instant nature of email, and its convenience, they both enjoyed interspersing their online messages with more formal letters. There was something so…permanent about a real letter. As well, depending on his duty assignment, Paul didn’t always have computer access.

After they’d been corresponding regularly for a couple of months, Paul asked for her picture. Eventually she’d mailed him her photograph, but only after she’d had her hair and makeup done at one of those “glamour” studios. Although she wasn’t fashion-model beautiful, she considered herself fairly attractive and wanted to look her absolute best for Paul, although she didn’t entirely understand why it mattered so much. For years, she’d been resigned to the fact that she wasn’t much good at relationships. In high school she’d been shy, and while she was an undergraduate, she’d dated a little but tended to be reserved and studious. Her quiet manner didn’t seem to appeal to the guys she met. It was only when she stepped in front of a classroom that she truly became herself. She loved teaching, every single aspect of it. In the process, Ruth lost her hesitation and her restraint, and to her astonishment discovered that this enthusiasm had begun to spill over into the rest of her life. Suddenly men started to notice her. She enjoyed the attention—who wouldn’t?—and had dated more in the past few months than in the preceding four years.

For the picture, her short brown hair had been styled in loose curls. Her blue eyes were smiling and friendly, which was exactly the impression she hoped to convey. She was a little shocked by the importance of Paul’s reaction—by her need that he find her attractive.

She waited impatiently for his response. A week later she received an email. Paul seemed to like what he saw in her photograph and soon they were writing and emailing back and forth at a feverish pace. A day without some form of communication from Paul felt empty now.

Ruth had never had a long-distance relationship before, and the growing intensity of her feelings for this man she’d never met took her by surprise. She wasn’t a teenager with a schoolgirl crush. Ruth was a mature, responsible adult. Or at least she had been until she slipped a simple Christmas card into the mailbox—and got a reply from a handsome marine sergeant named Paul Gordon.

Ruth walked quickly to the rental house she shared with Lynn Blumenthal, then ran up the front steps to the porch. Lynn was eighteen and away from home and family for the first time. The arrangement suited both of them, and despite the disparity in their ages and interests, they’d gotten along fairly well. With her heart pounding hard, Ruth forced herself to draw in a deep breath as she started toward the mailbox.

The screen door flew open and Lynn came out. “What are you doing home?” she asked, then shook her head. “Never mind, I already know. You’re looking for a letter from soldier boy.”

Ruth wasn’t going to deny the obvious. “I haven’t heard from him in three days.”

Lynn rolled her eyes. “I don’t understand you.”

“I know.” Ruth didn’t want to get into another discussion with her roommate. Lynn had made her feelings about this relationship known from the outset, although as Ruth had gently tried to tell her, it was none of her business. That didn’t prevent the younger woman from expressing her views. Lynn said that Ruth was only setting herself up for heartache. A part of Ruth actually agreed, but by the time she realized what was happening, she was emotionally involved with Paul.

“You hardly ever see Clay anymore,” Lynn chastised, hands on her hips. “He called and asked about you the other night.”

Ruth stared at the small black mailbox. “Clay and I are just friends.”

“Not according to him.”

It was true that they’d been seeing each other quite a bit following a Halloween party last October. Like her, Clay Matthews was obtaining his master’s of education, and they seemed to have a lot in common. But her interest in him had started to wane even before she’d mailed that Christmas card to Paul. The problem was, Clay hadn’t noticed.

“I’m sorry he’s disappointed.”

“Clay is decent and hardworking, and the way you’ve treated him the last few months is…is terrible.” Lynn, who at five foot ten stood a good seven inches taller than Ruth, could be intimidating, especially with her mouth twisted in that grimace of disapproval.

Ruth had tried to let Clay down easily, but it hadn’t worked. They’d gone to the library together last Thursday. Unfortunately, that had been a mistake. She’d known it almost right away when Clay pressured her to have coffee with him afterward. It would’ve been better just to end the relationship and forget about staying friends. He was younger, for one thing, and while that hadn’t seemed important earlier, it did now. Perhaps it was wrong to compare him to Paul, but Ruth couldn’t help it. Measured against Paul, Clay seemed immature, demanding and insecure.

“You said he phoned?” Frowning, she glanced at Lynn.

Lynn nodded. “He wants to know what’s going on.”

Oh, brother! Ruth couldn’t have made it plainer had she handed him divorce papers. Unwilling to be cruel, she’d tried to bolster his ego by referring to all the positive aspects of his personality—but apparently, that had only led him to think the opposite of what she was trying to tell him. He’d refused to take her very obvious hints, and in her frustration, she’d bluntly announced that she wasn’t interested in seeing him anymore. That seemed pretty explicit to her; how he could be confused about it left Ruth shaking her head.

The fact that he’d phoned and cried on her roommate’s shoulder was a good example of what she found adolescent about his behavior. She was absolutely certain Paul would never do that. If he had a problem, he’d take it directly to the source.

“I think you’re being foolish,” Lynn said, and added, “Not that you asked my opinion.”

“No, I didn’t,” Ruth reminded her, eyeing the mailbox again. There was an ornamental latticework design along the bottom, and looking through it, she could tell that the day’s mail had been delivered. The envelope inside was white, and her spirits sank. There had to be something from Paul. If not a real letter, then an email.

“He wanted me to talk to you,” Lynn was saying.

“Who did?” Ruth asked distractedly. She was dying to open the mailbox, but she wanted to do it in privacy.

“Clay,” Lynn cried, sounding completely exasperated. “Who else are we talking about?”

Suddenly Ruth understood. She looked away from the mailbox and focused her attention on Lynn. “You’re attracted to him, aren’t you?”

Lynn gasped indignantly. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Sit down,” Ruth said, gesturing toward the front steps where they’d often sat before. It was a lovely spring afternoon, the first week of April, and she needed to clear the air with her roommate before this got further out of hand.

“What?” Lynn said with a defensive edge. “You’ve got the wrong idea here. I was just trying to help a friend.”

“Sit,” Ruth ordered.

“I have class in twenty minutes and I—” Lynn paused, scowling at her watch.

“Sit down.”

The eighteen-year-old capitulated with ill grace. “All right, but I know what you’re going to say.” She folded her arms and stared straight ahead.

“I’m fine with it,” Ruth said softly. “Go out with him if you want. Like I said earlier, I’m not interested in Clay.”

“You would be if it wasn’t for soldier boy.”

Ruth considered that and in all honesty felt she could say, “Not so.”

“I don’t understand you,” Lynn lamented a second time. “You marched in the rally against the war in Iraq. Afghanistan isn’t all that different, and now you’re involved with Paul what’s-his-face and it’s like I don’t even know you anymore.”

“Paul doesn’t have anything to do with this.”

“Yes, he does,” Lynn insisted.

“I’m not going to have this conversation with you. We agree on some points and disagree on others. That’s fine. We live in a free society and we don’t have to have the same opinion on these issues or anything else.”

Lynn sighed and said nothing.

“I have the feeling none of this is really about Paul,” Ruth said with deliberate patience. She hadn’t known Lynn very long; they lived separate lives and so far they’d never had a problem. As roommates went, Ruth felt she was fortunate to have found someone as amicable as Lynn. She didn’t want this difference of opinion about Clay—and Paul—to ruin that.

The other girl once again looked pointedly at her watch, as if to suggest Ruth say what she intended to say and be done with it.

“I don’t want to see Clay,” she said emphatically.

“You might have told him that.”

“I tried.”

Lynn glared at her. “You should’ve tried harder.”

Ruth laughed, but not because she was amused. For whatever reason, Clay had set his sights on her and wasn’t about to be dissuaded. Complicating matters, Lynn was obviously interested in him and feeling guilty and unsure of how to deal with her attraction.

“Listen,” Ruth said. “I didn’t mean to hurt Clay. He’s a great guy and—”

“You shouldn’t have lied to him.”

Ruth raised her eyebrows. “When did I lie to him?”

“Last week you said you were going to visit your grandmother in Cedar Cove and that was why you couldn’t go out with him this weekend. I overheard you,” she murmured.

Oh, that. “It was a white lie,” Ruth confessed. She definitely planned to visit her grandmother, though. Helen Shelton lived across Puget Sound in a small community on the Kitsap Peninsula. Ruth had spent Thanksgiving with her grandmother and visited for a weekend before Christmas and then again close to Valentine’s Day. Her last visit had been early in March. She always enjoyed her time with Helen, but somehow the weeks had slipped away and here it was April already.

“A lie is a lie,” Lynn said adamantly.

“Okay, you’re right,” Ruth agreed. “I should’ve been honest with Clay.” Delaying had been a mistake, as she was now learning.

That seemed to satisfy her roommate, who started to get to her feet. Ruth placed her hand on Lynn’s forearm, stopping her. “I want to know why you’re so upset about this situation with Clay.”

“I told you…. I just don’t think this is how people should treat each other.”

“I don’t like the way Clay’s put you in the middle. This is between him and me. He had no right to drag you into it.”

“Yes, but—”

“You’re defending him?”

Lynn shrugged. “I guess.”

“Don’t. Clay’s a big boy. If he has something to say, then he can come to me all on his own. When and if he does, I’m going to tell him again that I’m no longer interested in dating him. I’m—”

“Stuck on some gun-wielding—”

A look from Ruth cut her off.

“Okay, whatever,” Lynn muttered.

“What I want you to do is comfort him,” Ruth said, patting Lynn’s arm.

“I could, I suppose.”

“Good,” Ruth said, hoping to encourage her. “He might need someone to talk to, and since you’re sensitive to his feelings, you’d be the perfect choice.”

“You think so?”

Ruth nodded. Lynn stood up and went inside to get her books; she left with a cheerful goodbye as if they’d never had an argument. With her roommate gone, Ruth leaped off the step and across the porch to the mailbox. Lifting the top, she reached inside, holding her breath as she pulled out the electric bill in its white envelope, a sales flyer—and a hand-addressed air mail letter from Sergeant Paul Gordon.

Two

April 2

My Dear Ruth,

We’ve been out on a recon mission for the last four days and there wasn’t any way I could let you know. They seemed like the longest four days of this tour, and not for the reasons you might think. Those days meant I couldn’t write you or receive your letters. I’ve been in the marines for eight years now and I’ve never felt like this about mail before. Never felt this strongly about a woman I’ve yet to meet, either. Once we were back in camp, I sat down with your letters and read through each one. As I explained before, there are times we can’t get online and this happened to be one of those times. I realize you’ve probably been wondering why I wasn’t in touch. I hope you weren’t too concerned. I would’ve written if I could.

I have good news. I’m coming home on leave….

Ruth read Paul’s letter twice. Yes, he’d definitely said he was headed home, to Seattle, for two weeks before flying to Camp Pendleton in California for additional training. He hoped to spend most of his leave with her. His one request was that Ruth make as much time for him as her studies would allow and, if possible, keep her weekends free.

If Ruth thought her heart had been beating hard a few minutes earlier, it didn’t compare to the way it pounded now. She could barely breathe. Never had she looked forward to meeting anyone more.

Sitting on the edge of her bed, Ruth picked up the small framed photograph she kept on her nightstand. Paul’s image was the first thing she saw when she woke and the last before she turned off her light. In four months, he’d become an important part of her life. Now, with his return to Seattle, their feelings for each other would stand the real test. Writing letters and email messages was very different from carrying on a face-to-face conversation….

At the end of his letter, Paul suggested they meet at 6:00 p.m. on Saturday, April 16, at Ivar’s restaurant on the Seattle waterfront. She didn’t care what else was on her schedule; any conflicting arrangement would immediately be canceled.

Rather than begin her homework, Ruth sat down and wrote Paul back, her fingers flying over the computer keys as she composed her response. Yes, she would see him there. Nothing could keep her away. While she was nervous at the prospect of meeting Paul, she was excited, too.

Her letter was coming out of the printer when the phone rang. Absently Ruth grabbed the receiver, holding it against her shoulder as she opened the desk drawer and searched for an envelope.

“Hello?”

“Ruth, it’s your grandmother.”

“Grandma,” Ruth said, genuinely pleased to hear from Helen. “I’ve been meaning to call you and I haven’t. I’m sorry.”

Her grandmother chuckled. “I didn’t call to make you feel guilty. I’m inviting you to lunch.”

“When?”

“In a couple of weeks—on Sunday the seventeenth if that works for you. I figured I’d give you plenty of time to fit me into your schedule. I thought we’d sit out on the patio, weather permitting, and enjoy the view of the cove.”

Her grandmother’s duplex was on a hill overlooking the water with the lighthouse in the distance. Her grandparents had lived in Cedar Cove for as long as Ruth could remember, and Helen had stayed there after her husband’s death. Because Ruth had been born and raised in Oregon, she’d visited the small Washington town often through the years. “I’ve wanted to get over to see you.”

“I know, I know, but unless we both plan ahead, it won’t happen. In no time you’ll have your master’s degree and then you’ll move on and we’ll both regret the missed opportunities. I don’t want that.”

“I don’t, either.” Her Grandma Shelton was Ruth’s favorite relative. She was highly educated, which wasn’t particularly common for a woman her age, and spoke French and German fluently. She’d worked as a translator from the 1950s through the ’80s, specializing in French novels, which she translated into English. Her father hadn’t said much about his mother’s life prior to her marriage, and one of the reasons Ruth had chosen to attend the University of Washington was so she could get to know her grandmother better.

“I can put you down for lunch, then?”

“Yes, that would be lovely.” Her gaze fell on Paul’s letter and Ruth realized that the date her grandmother had suggested was the first weekend Paul would be in town. He’d specifically asked her to keep as much of that two-week period free as she could. She wanted to spend time with him and yet she couldn’t refuse her grandmother. “Grandma, I’m looking at my calendar and—”

“Is there a conflict?”

“Not…exactly. I’ve sort of got a date,” she said, assuming she and Paul would be seeing each other. It would be ideal if he could join her. “It isn’t anything official, so I—”

“Then you do have another commitment.”

“No…” This was getting complicated. “Well, not exactly,” she said again.

“I wasn’t aware that you were dating anyone special. Who is he?”

The question hung there for a moment before Ruth answered. “His name is Paul Gordon and we aren’t really dating.” She would’ve continued, except that her grandmother broke in.

“Your parents didn’t say anything about this.” The words were spoken as if there must be something untoward about Paul that Ruth didn’t want to divulge.

“No, Mom and Dad wouldn’t,” Ruth said, not adding that she hadn’t actually mentioned Paul to her parents. She’d decided it wasn’t necessary to enlighten them about this correspondence yet. Explaining her feelings about Paul to her family would be difficult when everyone knew her political views. More importantly, she wasn’t sure how she felt about him and wouldn’t be until they’d met.

So far, they were only pen pals, but this was the man she dreamed about every night, the man who dominated her thoughts each and every day.

“Grandma, I haven’t said anything to Mom and Dad because I haven’t officially met Paul yet.”

“Is this…” Her grandmother hesitated. “Is this one of those…those internet relationships?” She spit out the word as though meeting a man via the internet was either illegal or unseemly—most likely both.

“No, Grandma, it’s nothing like that.”

“Then why don’t your parents know about him?”

“Well, because…because he’s a soldier in Afghanistan.” There—it was out.

Her announcement was greeted by silence. “There’s something wrong with that?” she eventually asked.

“No…”

“You say it like you’re ashamed.”

“I’m not ashamed,” Ruth insisted. “I like Paul a great deal and I’m proud of his service to our country.” She downplayed her political beliefs as she expanded on her feelings. “I enjoy his letters and like him more than I probably should, but I don’t like the fact that he’s a soldier.”

“You sound confused.”

Ruth sighed. That was certainly an accurate description of how she felt.

“So this Paul will be in Seattle on leave?”

“Yes. For two weeks.”

“He’s coming here to meet you?”

“His family also lives in the area.”

“Invite him along for lunch,” her grandmother said. “I want to meet him, too.”

“You do?” Ruth’s enthusiasm swelled. “That’s great. I thought of it, but I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about having him join us.”

“I meant what I said. I want to meet him.”

“We’ve only been writing for a few months. I don’t know him well, and…” She let the rest fade.

“It’ll be fine, Ruth,” her grandmother assured her. Helen always seemed to understand what Ruth was feeling. She’d found ways to encourage the special bond between them.

“Grandpa was a soldier when you first met him, wasn’t he?” Ruth remembered her father telling her this years ago, although he’d also said his mother didn’t like to talk about those years. Ruth assumed that was because of Grandpa Sam’s bad memories of the war, the awful things he’d seen and experienced in Europe. She knew her grandparents had met during the Second World War, fallen in love and married soon afterward. Ruth’s father had been born in the baby boom years that followed, and her uncle Jake had arrived two years later. Ruth was Helen’s only granddaughter, but she had three grandsons.

“Oh, yes.” She sighed wistfully. “My Sam was so handsome, especially in his uniform.” Her voice softened perceptibly.

“How long did you know him before you were married?”

Her grandmother laughed. “Less than a year. In wartime everything’s very intense. People married quickly because you never knew if you’d still be alive tomorrow. It was as if those of us who were young had to cram as much life into as short a time as possible.”

“The war was terrible, wasn’t it?”

Helen sighed before whispering, “All war is terrible.”

“I agree,” Ruth said promptly.

“So you and this soldier you’ve never met are discussing marriage?” her grandmother asked after a moment.

“No!” Ruth nearly choked getting out her denial. “Paul and me? No, of course not. I promise you the subject has never even come up.” They hadn’t written about kissing or touching or exchanged the conventional romantic endearments. That didn’t mean she hadn’t dreamed about what it would be like to be held by Paul Gordon. To kiss him and be caressed by him. She’d let her imagination roam free….

“So you say,” her grandmother said with amusement in her voice. “By all means, bring your friend. I’ll look forward to meeting him.”

That was no doubt true, Ruth thought, but no one looked forward to meeting Paul Gordon more than she did.

Three

“How do I look?” Ruth asked her roommate. She hated to sound so insecure, but this was perhaps the most important meeting of her life and Ruth was determined to make a perfect impression.

“Fabulous,” Lynn said, her face hidden behind the latest issue of People magazine.

“I might believe you if you actually looked at me.” Ruth held on to her patience with limited success. The relationship with her roommate had gone steadily downhill since the confrontation on the porch steps two weeks earlier. Apparently Clay wasn’t interested in dating Lynn. What Ruth did know was that Clay hadn’t contacted either of them since, and her roommate had been increasingly cold and standoffish. Ruth had tried to talk to her but that hadn’t done any good. She suspected that Lynn wanted to be upset, so Ruth had decided to go about her own business and ignore her roommate’s disgruntled mood. This might not be the best strategy, but it was the only way she could deal with Lynn’s attitude.

Her roommate heaved a sigh; apparently lifting her head a couple of inches required immense effort. Her eyes were devoid of emotion as she gave Ruth a token appraisal. “You look all right, I guess.”

These days, that was high praise coming from Lynn. Ruth had spent an hour doing her hair, with the help of a curling iron and two brushes. And now it was raining like crazy. This wasn’t the drizzle traditionally associated with the Pacific Northwest, either. This was rain. Real rain. Which spelled disaster for her hair, since her umbrella wouldn’t afford much protection.

If her hair had taken a long time, choosing what to wear had demanded equal consideration. She had a pretty teal-and-white summer dress from last year that made her eyes look soft and dreamy, but the rain had altered that plan. Now she was wearing black pants and a white cashmere sweater with a beige overcoat.

“You’re meeting at Ivar’s, right?”

“Right.” Ruth didn’t remember telling her roommate. They were barely on speaking terms.

“Too bad.”

“Too bad what?”

Lynn sighed once more and set aside the magazine. “If you must know, soldier boy phoned and said you should meet him outside the restaurant.” She grinned nastily. “And in case you haven’t noticed, it’s pouring out.”

“I’m supposed to meet him outside?”

“That’s what he said.”

Ruth made an effort not to snap at her. “You didn’t think to mention this before?”

Lynn shrugged. “It slipped my mind.”

Ruth just bet it did. Rather than start an argument, she collected her raincoat, umbrella and purse. Surely she would receive a heavenly reward for controlling her temper. Lynn would love an argument but Ruth wasn’t going to give her one; she wasn’t going to play childish games with her roommate. The difference in their ages had never seemed more pronounced than it had in the past two weeks.

Because of the rain, Ruth couldn’t find convenient street parking and was forced to pay an outrageous amount at a lot near the restaurant. She rushed toward Ivar’s, making sure she arrived in plenty of time. Lynn’s sour disposition might have upset Ruth if not for the fact that she was finally going to meet the soldier who’d come to mean so much to her.

Focusing on her hair, dress and makeup meant she’d paid almost no attention to something that was far more important—what she’d actually say when she saw Paul for the first time. Ideas skittered through her mind as she crossed the street.

Ruth hoped to sound witty, articulate and well informed. She so badly wanted to impress Paul and was afraid she’d stumble over her words or find herself speechless. Her other fear was that she’d take one look at him and burst into tears. It could happen; she felt very emotional about meeting this man she’d known only through letters and emails.

Thankfully, by the time she reached Ivar’s, the rain had slowed to a drizzle. But it was still wet out and miserably gray. Her curls, which had been perfectly styled, had turned into tight wads of frizz in the humid air. She was sure she resembled a cartoon character more than the fashion model she’d strived for earlier that afternoon.

After the longest ten-minute wait of her life, Ruth checked her watch and saw that it was now one minute past six. Paul was late. She pulled her cell phone from her bag; unfortunately Paul didn’t answer his cell, so she punched out her home number. Perhaps he’d been delayed in traffic and had called the house, hoping to connect with her.

No answer. Either Lynn had left or purposely chosen not to pick up the receiver. Great, just great.

To her dismay, as she went to toss her cell phone back inside her purse, she realized the battery was low. Why hadn’t she charged it? Oh, no, that would’ve been much too smart.

All at once Ruth figured it out. Paul wasn’t late at all. Somehow she’d missed him, which wouldn’t be that difficult with all the tourist traffic on the waterfront. Even in the rain, people milled around the area as if they were on the sunny beaches of Hawaii. Someone needed to explain to these tourists that the water dripping down from the sky was cold rain. Just because they’d dressed for sunshine didn’t mean the weather would cooperate.

Despite her umbrella, her hair now hung in tight ringlets all around her head. Either of two things had happened, she speculated. Perhaps her appearance was so drastically changed from the glamour photo she’d sent him that Paul hadn’t recognized her and assumed she’d stood him up. The other possibility was even less appealing. Paul had gotten a glimpse of her and decided to escape without saying a word.

For a moment Ruth felt like crying. Rather than waste the last of her cell phone battery phoning her roommate again, she stepped inside the restaurant to see if Paul had left a message for her.

She opened the door and lowered her umbrella. As she did, she saw a tall, lean and very handsome Paul Gordon get up from a chair in the restaurant foyer.

“Ruth?”

“Paul?” Without a thought, she dropped the umbrella and moved directly into his embrace.

Then they were in each other’s arms, hugging fiercely.

When it became obvious that everyone in the crowded foyer was staring at them, Paul finally released her.

“I was outside—didn’t you tell Lynn that’s where we were meeting?”

“No.” He brushed the wet curls from her forehead and smiled down at her. “I said inside because I heard on the weather forecast that it was going to rain. And—” he rolled his eyes “—I forgot my cell phone. I’m not used to carrying one around.”

“Of course you said inside.” Ruth wanted to kick herself for being so dense. She should’ve guessed what Lynn was up to; instead, she’d fallen right into her roommate’s petty hands. “I’m so sorry to keep you waiting.”

A number of people were still watching them but Ruth didn’t care. She couldn’t stop looking at Paul. He seemed unable to break eye contact with her, too.

The hostess came forward. “Since your party’s arrived,” she said with a smile, “I can seat you now.”

“Yes, please.” Paul helped Ruth off with her coat and set the umbrella beside several others so it could dry. Then, as if they’d known and loved each other all their lives, he reached for her hand and linked her fingers with his as they walked through the restaurant.

The hostess seated them by the window, which overlooked the dark, murky waters of Puget Sound. Rain ran in rivulets down the tempered glass, but as far as Ruth was concerned it could have been the brightest, sunniest day in Seattle’s history.

Paul continued to hold her hand on top of the table.

“I was worried about what I’d say once we met,” she said. “Then when we did, I just felt so glad, the words didn’t seem important.”

“I’d almost convinced myself you’d stood me up.” He yawned, covering his mouth with the other hand, and she realized he was probably functioning on next to no sleep.

“Stood you up? I would’ve found a way to get here no matter what.” She let the truth of that show in her eyes. She had the strongest feeling of certainty, and an involuntary sense that he was everything she’d dreamed.

He briefly looked away. “I would’ve found a way to get to you, too.” His fingers tightened around hers.

“When did you last sleep?” she asked.

His mouth curved upward in a half smile. “I forget. A long time ago. Maybe I should’ve suggested we meet tomorrow instead, but I didn’t want to wait a minute longer than I had to.”

“Me, neither,” she confessed.

He smiled again, that wonderful, intoxicating smile.

“When did you land?” she asked, because if she didn’t stop staring at him she was going to embarrass herself.

“Late this morning,” he told her. “My family—well, you know what families are like. Mom’s been cooking for days and there was a big family get-together this afternoon. I wanted to invite you but—”

“No, I understand. You couldn’t because—well, how could you?” That didn’t come out right, but Paul seemed to know what she was trying to say.

“You’re exactly like I pictured you,” he said, leaning forward to touch her cheek.

“You imagined me drenched?”

He chuckled. “I imagined you beautiful, and you are.”

His words made her blush. “I’m having a hard time believing you’re actually here,” she said.

“I am, too.”

The waitress came for their drink order. Ruth hadn’t even looked at her menu or thought about what she’d like to drink. Because she was wet and chilled, she ordered hot tea and Paul asked for a bottle of champagne.

“We have reason to celebrate,” he announced. Then, as if it had suddenly occurred to him, he said, “You do drink alcohol, don’t you?”

She nodded quickly. “Normally I would’ve asked for wine, but I wanted the tea so I could warm up. I haven’t decided what to order yet.” She picked up the menu and scanned the entrées.

The waitress brought the champagne and standing ice bucket to the table. “Is there something special you’re celebrating?” she asked in a friendly voice.

Paul nodded and his eyes met Ruth’s. “We’re celebrating the fact that we found each other,” he said.

“Excellent.” She removed the foil top and wire around the cork and opened the bottle with a slight popping sound. After filling the two champagne flutes, she left.

Ruth took her glass. “Once again, I’m so sorry about what happened. Let me pay for the champagne, please. You wouldn’t have had a problem finding me if I’d—”

“I wasn’t talking about this evening,” he broke in. “I was talking about your Christmas card.”

“Oh.”

Paul raised his glass; she raised hers, too, and they clicked the rims gently together. “Do you believe in fate?” he asked.

Ruth smiled. “I didn’t, but I’ve had a change of heart since Christmas.”

His smile widened. “Me, too.”

Dinner was marvelous. Ruth didn’t remember what she’d ordered or anything else about the actual meal. For all she knew, she could’ve been dining on raw seaweed. It hardly mattered.

They talked and talked, and she felt as if she’d known Paul her entire life. He asked detailed questions about her family, her studies, her plans after graduation, and seemed genuinely interested in everything she said. He talked about the marines and Afghanistan with a sense of pride at the positive differences he’d seen in the country. After dinner and dessert, they lingered over coffee and at nine-thirty Paul paid the tab and suggested they walk along the waterfront. She eagerly agreed. Her umbrella was now merely an encumbrance because the rain had stopped, so they brought it back to her car before they set off.

The clouds had drifted away and the moon was glowing, its light splashing against the pier as they strolled hand in hand. Although she knew Paul had to be exhausted from his long flight and the family gathering, she couldn’t deny herself these last few minutes.

“You asked me to keep the weekends free,” Ruth murmured, resting her head against his shoulder.

“Did you?”

She sighed. “Not tomorrow.”

“Do you have a date with some other guy?”

She leaned back in order to study his face, trying to discern whether he was serious. “You’re joking, right?” she said hesitantly.

He shrugged. “Yes and no. You have no obligation to me and vice versa.”

“Are you seeing someone else?”

“No.” His response was immediate.

“I’m not, either,” she told him. She wanted to ask how he could even think that she would be. “I promised my grandmother I’d visit tomorrow.”

“Your grandmother?” he repeated.

“She invited you, too.”

He arched his brows.

“In fact, she insisted I bring you.”

“So you’ve mentioned me to your family.”

She’d told him in her letters that she hadn’t. “Just her. We’ve become really close. I’m sure you’ll enjoy meeting her.”

“I’m sure I will, too.”

“You’ll come, won’t you?”

Paul turned Ruth into his arms and gazed down at her. “I don’t think I could stay away.”

And then he kissed her. Ruth had fantasized about this moment for months. She’d wondered what it would be like when Paul kissed her, but nothing she’d conjured up equaled this reality. Never in all her twenty-five years had she experienced anything like the sensation she felt when Paul’s mouth descended on hers. Stars fell from the sky. She saw it happen even with her eyes tightly closed. She heard triumphant music nearby; it seemed to surround her. But once she opened her eyes, all the stars seemed to be exactly where they’d been before. And the music came from somebody’s car radio.

Paul wore a stunned look.

“That was…very nice,” Ruth managed.

Paul nodded in agreement, then cleared his throat. “Very.”

“Should I admit I was afraid of what would happen when we met?” she asked.

“Afraid why? Of what?”

“I didn’t know what to expect.”

“I didn’t either.” He slid his hand down her spine and moved a step away. “I’d built this up in my mind.”

“I did, too,” she whispered.

“I was so afraid you could never live up to my image of you,” Paul told her. “I figured we’d meet and I’d get you out of my system. I’d buy you dinner, thank you for your letters and emails—and that would be the end of it. No woman could possibly be everything I’d envisioned you to be. But you are, Ruth, you are.”

Although the wind was chilly, his words were enough to warm her from head to foot.

“I didn’t think you could be what I’d imagined, either, and I was right,” Ruth said.

“You were?” He seemed crestfallen.

She nodded. “Paul, you’re even more wonderful than I’d realized.” At his relieved expression, she said, “I underestimated how strong my feelings for you are. Look at me, I’m shaking.” She held out her hand as evidence of how badly she was trembling after his kiss.

He shook his head. “I feel the same way—nervous and jittery inside.”

“That’s lack of sleep.”

“No,” he said, and took her by the shoulders. “That’s what your kiss did to me.” His eyes glittered as he stared down at her.

“What should we do?” she asked uncertainly.

“You’re the one with reservations about falling for a guy in the service.”

Her early letters had often referred to her feelings about exactly that. Ruth lowered her gaze. “The fundamental problem hasn’t changed,” she said. “But you’ll eventually get out, won’t you?”

He hesitated, and his dark eyes—which had been so warm seconds before—seemed to be closing her out. “Eventually I’ll leave the marines, but you should know it won’t be anytime in the near future. I’m in for the long haul, and if you want to continue this relationship, the sooner you accept that, the better.”

Ruth didn’t want their evening to end on a negative note. When she’d answered his letter that first time, she’d known he was a military man and it hadn’t stopped her. She’d gone into this with her eyes wide open. “I don’t have to decide right away, do I?”

“No,” he admitted. “But—”

“Good,” she said, cutting him off. She couldn’t allow their differences to come between them so quickly. She sensed that Paul, too, wanted to push all that aside. When she slipped her arms around his waist and hugged him, he hugged her back. “You’re exhausted. Let’s meet in the morning. I’ll take you over to visit my grandmother and we can talk some more then.”

Ruth rested her head against his shoulder again and Paul kissed her hair. “You’re making this difficult,” he said.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Me, too,” he whispered.

Ruth knew they’d need to confront the issue soon. She could also see that settling it wasn’t going to be as easy as she’d hoped.

Four

Paul met Ruth at the Seattle terminal at ten the next morning and they walked up the ramp to board the Bremerton ferry. The hard rain of the night before had yielded to glorious sunshine.

Unlike the previous evening, when Paul and Ruth had talked nonstop through a three-hour dinner, it seemed that now they had little to say. The one big obstacle in their relationship hung between them. They sat side by side on the wooden bench and sipped hot coffee as the ferry eased away from the Seattle dock.

“You’re still thinking about last night, aren’t you?” Ruth said, carefully broaching the subject after a lengthy silence. “About you being in the military, I mean, and my objections to the war in Iraq?”

He nodded. “Yeah, there’s the political aspect and also the fact that you don’t seem comfortable with the concept of military life,” he said.

“I’m not, really, but we’ll work it out,” she told him, and reached for his free hand, entwining their fingers. “We’ll find a way.”

Paul didn’t look as if he believed her. But after a couple of minutes, he seemed to come to some sort of decision. He brought her hand to his lips. “Let’s enjoy the time we have today, all right?”

Ruth smiled in agreement.

“Tell me about your grandmother.”

Ruth was more than willing to change the subject. “This is my paternal grandmother, and she’s lived in Cedar Cove for the past thirty years. She and my grandfather moved there from Seattle after he retired because they wanted a slower pace of life. I barely remember my grandfather Sam. He died when I was two, before I had any real memories of him.”

“He died young,” Paul commented sympathetically.

“Yes…My grandmother’s been alone for a long time.”

“She probably has good friends in a town like Cedar Cove.”

“Yes,” Ruth said. “And she’s still got friends she’s had since the war. It’s something I admire about my grandmother,” she continued. “She’s my inspiration, and not only because she speaks three languages fluently and is one of the most intelligent women I know. Ever since I can remember, she’s been helping others. Although she’s in her eighties, Grandma’s involved with all kinds of charities and social groups. When I enrolled at the University of Washington, I intended for the two of us to get together often, but I swear her schedule’s even busier than mine.”

Paul grinned at her. “I know what you mean. It’s the same in my family.”

By the time they stepped off the Bremerton ferry and took the foot ferry across to Cedar Cove, it was after eleven. They stopped at a deli, where Paul bought a loaf of fresh bread and a bottle of Washington State gewürz-traminer to take with them. At quarter to twelve, they trudged up the hill toward her grandmother’s duplex on Poppy Lane.

When they arrived, Helen greeted them at the front door and ushered Paul and Ruth into the house. Ruth hugged her grandmother, whose white hair was cut stylishly short. Helen was thinner than the last time Ruth had visited and seemed more fragile somehow. Her grandmother paused to give Paul an embarrassingly frank look. Ruth felt her face heat as Helen spoke.

“So, you’re the young man who’s captured my granddaughter’s heart.”

“Grandma, this is Paul Gordon,” Ruth said hurriedly, gesturing toward Paul.

“This is the soldier you’ve been writing to, who’s fighting in Afghanistan?”

“I am.” Paul’s response sounded a bit defensive, Ruth thought. He obviously preferred not to discuss it.

In an effort to ward off any misunderstanding, Ruth added, “My grandfather was a soldier when Grandma met him.”

Helen nodded, and a faraway look stole over her. It took her a moment to refocus. “Come, both of you,” she said, stepping between them. She tucked her arm around Ruth’s waist. “I set the table outside. It’s such a beautiful afternoon, I thought we’d eat on the patio.”

“We brought some bread and a bottle of wine,” Ruth said. “Paul got them.”

“Lovely. Thank you, Paul.”

While Ruth sliced the fresh-baked bread, he opened the wine, then helped her grandmother carry the salad plates outside. An apple pie cooled on the kitchen counter and the scent of cinnamon permeated the sunlit kitchen.

They chatted throughout the meal; the conversation was light and friendly as they lingered over their wine. Every now and then Ruth caught her grandmother staring at Paul with the strangest expression on her face. Ruth didn’t know what to make of this. It almost seemed as if her grandmother was trying to place him, to recall where she’d seen him before.

Helen had apparently read Ruth’s mind. “Am I embarrassing your beau, sweetheart?” she asked with a half smile.

Ruth resisted informing her grandmother that Paul wasn’t her anything, especially not her beau. They’d had one lovely dinner together, but now their political differences seemed to have overtaken them.

“I apologize, Paul.” Helen briefly touched his hand, which rested on the table. “When I first saw you—” She stopped abruptly. “You resemble someone I knew many years ago.”

“Where, Grandma?” Ruth asked.

“In France, during the war.”

“You were in France during World War II?” Ruth couldn’t quite hide her shock.

Helen turned to her. “I haven’t spoken much about those days, but now, toward the end of my life, I think about them more and more.” She pushed back her chair and stood.

Ruth stood, too, thinking her grandmother was about to carry in their empty plates and serve the pie.

Helen motioned her to sit. “Stay here. There’s something I want you to see. I think perhaps it’s time.”

When her grandmother had left them, Ruth looked at Paul and shrugged. “I have no idea what’s going on.”

Paul had been wonderful with her grandmother, thoughtful and attentive. He’d asked a number of questions during the meal—about Cedar Cove, about her life with Sam—and listened intently when she responded. Ruth knew his interest was genuine. Together they cleared the table and returned the dishes to the kitchen, then waited for Helen at the patio table.

It was at least five minutes before she came back. She held a rolled-up paper that appeared to be some kind of poster, old enough to have yellowed with age. Carefully she opened it and laid it flat on the cleared table. Ruth saw that the writing was French. In the center of the poster, which measured about eighteen inches by twenty-four, was a pencil sketch of two faces: a man and a woman, whose names she didn’t recognize. Jean and Marie Brulotte.

“Who’s that?” Ruth asked, pointing to the female.

Her grandmother smiled calmly. “I am that woman.”

Ruth frowned. Helen had obviously used a false name, and although she’d seen photographs of her grandmother as a young woman, this sketch barely resembled the woman she knew. The man in the drawing, however, seemed familiar. Gazing at the sketch for a minute, she realized the face was vaguely like Paul’s. Not so much in any similarity of features as in a quality of…character, she supposed.

“And the man?”

“That was Jean-Claude,” Helen whispered, her voice full of pain.

Paul turned to Ruth, but she was at a complete loss and didn’t know what to tell him. Her grandfather’s name was Sam and she’d never heard of this Jean or Jean-Claude. Certainly her father had never mentioned another man in his mother’s life.

“This is a wanted poster,” Paul remarked. “I speak some French—studied it in school.”

“Yes. The Germans offered a reward of one million francs to anyone who turned us in.”

“You were in France during the war and you were wanted?” This was more than Ruth could assimilate. She sat back down; so did her grandmother. Paul remained standing for a moment longer as he studied the poster.

“But…it said Marie. Marie Brulotte.”

“I went by my middle name in those days. Marie. You may not be aware that it was part of my name because I haven’t used it since.”

“But…”

“You and Jean-Claude were part of the French Resistance?” Paul asked. It was more statement than question.

“We were.” Her grandmother seemed to have difficulty speaking. “Jean-Claude was my husband. We married during the war, and I took his name with pride. He was my everything, strong and handsome and brave. His laughter filled a room. Sometimes, still, I think I can hear him.” Her eyes grew teary and she dabbed at them with her linen handkerchief. “That was many years ago now and, as I said, I think perhaps it’s time I spoke of it.”

Ruth was grateful. She couldn’t let her grandmother leave the story untold. She suspected her father hadn’t heard any of this, and she wanted to learn whatever she could about this unknown episode in their family history before it was forever lost.

“What were you doing in France?” Ruth asked. She couldn’t comprehend that the woman she’d always known as a warm and loving grandmother, who baked cookies and knit socks for Christmas, had been a freedom fighter in a foreign country.

“I was attending the Sorbonne when the Germans invaded. You may recall that my mother was born in France, but her own parents were long dead. I was studying French literature. My parents were frantic for me to book my passage home, but like so many others in France, I didn’t believe the country would fall. I assured my mother I’d leave when I felt it was no longer safe. Being young and foolish, I thought she was overreacting. Besides, I was in love. Jean-Claude had asked me to marry him, and what woman in love wishes to leave her lover over rumors of war?” She laughed lightly, shaking her head. “France seemed invincible. We were convinced the Germans wouldn’t invade, convinced they’d suffer a humiliating defeat if they tried.”

“So when it happened you were trapped,” Paul said.

Her grandmother drew in a deep breath. “There was the Blitzkrieg…. People were demoralized and defeated when France surrendered after only a few days of fighting. We were aghast that such a thing could happen. Jean-Claude and a few of his friends decided to resist the occupation. I decided I would, too, so we were married right away. My parents knew nothing of this.”

“How did you join the Resistance?” Paul asked as Ruth looked at her grandmother with fresh eyes.

“Join,” she repeated scornfully. “There was no place to join, no place to sign up and be handed a weapon and an instruction manual. A group of us students, naive and foolish, offered resistance to the German occupation. Later we learned there were other groups, eventually united under the leadership of General de Gaulle. We soon found one another. Jean-Claude and I—we were young and too stupid to understand the price we’d pay, but by then we’d already lost some of our dearest friends. Jean-Claude and I refused to let them die in vain.”

“What did you do?” Ruth breathed. She leaned closer to her grandmother.

“Whatever we could, which in the beginning was pitifully little. The Germans suffered more casualties in traffic accidents. At first our resistance was mostly symbolic.” A slow smile spread across her weathered face. “But we learned, oh yes, we learned.”

Ruth was still having difficulty taking it all in. She pressed her hand to her forehead. She found it hard enough to believe that the sketch of the female in this worn poster was her own grandmother. Then to discover that the fragile, petite woman at her side had been part of the French Resistance…

“Does my dad know any of this?” Ruth asked.

Helen sighed heavily. “I’m not sure, but I doubt it. Sam might have mentioned it to him. I’ve only told a few of my friends. No one else.” She shook her head. “I didn’t feel I could talk to my sons about it. There was too much that’s disturbing. Too many painful memories.”

“Did you…did you ever have to kill anyone?” Ruth had trouble even getting the question out.

“Many times,” Helen answered bluntly. “Does that surprise you?”

It shocked Ruth to the point that she couldn’t ask anything else.

“The first time was the hardest,” her grandmother said. “I was held by a French policeman.” She added something derogatory in French, and although Ruth couldn’t understand the language, some things didn’t need translation. “Under Vichy, some of the police worked hard to prove to the Germans what good little boys they were,” she muttered, this time in English. “I’d been stopped and questioned, detained by this pig of a man. He said he was taking me to the police station. I had a small gun with me that I’d hidden, a seven millimeter.”

Ruth’s heart raced as she listened to Helen recount this adventure.

“The pig didn’t drive me to the police station. Instead he headed for open country and I knew that once he was outside town and away from the eyes of any witnesses, he would rape and murder me.”

Ruth pressed her hand to her mouth, holding back a gasp of horror.

“You’d trained in self-defense?” Paul asked.

Her grandmother laughed. “No. How could we? There was no time for such lessons. But I realized that I didn’t need technique. What I needed was nerve. This beast of a man pulled his gun on me but I was quicker. I shot him in the head.” She paused at the memory of that terrifying moment. “I buried him myself in a field and, as far as I know, he was never found.” She wore a small satisfied look. “His mistake,” she murmured, “was that he tightened his jaw when he reached for his gun—and I saw. I’d been watching him closely. He was thinking of what might happen, of what could go wrong. He was a professional, and I was only nineteen, and yet I knew that if I didn’t act then, it would’ve been too late.”

“Didn’t you worry about what could happen?” Ruth asked, unable to grasp how her grandmother could ever shoot another human being.

“No,” Helen answered flatly. “I knew what would happen. We all did. We didn’t have a chance of surviving, none of us. My parents would never have discovered my fate—I would simply have disappeared. They didn’t even know I’d married Jean-Claude or changed my name.” She stared out at the water. “I don’t understand why I lived. It makes no sense that God would spare me when all my friends, all those I loved, were killed.”

“Jean-Claude, too?”

Her eyes filled and she slowly nodded.

“Where was he when you were taken by the policeman?” Paul asked.

Her grandmother’s mouth trembled. “By then, Jean-Claude had been captured.”

“The French police?”

“No,” she said in the thinnest of whispers. “Jean-Claude was being held by the Gestapo. That was the first time they got him—but not the last.”

Ruth had heard about the notorious German soldiers and their cruelty.

Helen straightened, and her back went rigid. “I could only imagine how those monsters were torturing my husband.” Contempt hardened her voice.

“What did you do?” Ruth glanced at Paul, whose gaze remained riveted on her grandmother.

At first Helen didn’t answer. “What else could I do? I had to rescue him.”

“You?” Paul asked this with the same shock Ruth felt.

“Yes, me and…” Helen’s smile was fleeting. “I was very clever about it, too.” The sadness returned with such intensity that it brought tears to Ruth’s eyes.

“They eventually killed him, didn’t they?” she asked, hardly able to listen to her grandmother’s response.

“No,” Helen said as she turned to face Ruth. “I did.”

Five

“You killed Jean-Claude?” Ruth repeated incredulously.

Tears rolling down her cheeks, Helen nodded. “God forgive me, but I had no choice. I couldn’t allow him to be tortured any longer. He begged me to do it, begged me to end his suffering. That was the second time he was captured, and they were more determined than ever to break him. He knew far too much.”

“You’d better start at the beginning. You went into Gestapo headquarters?” Paul moved closer as if he didn’t want to risk missing even one word. “Was that the first time or the second?”

“Both. The first time, in April 1943, I rescued him. I pretended I was pregnant and brought a priest to the house the Gestapo had taken over. I insisted with great bravado that they force Jean-Claude to marry me and give my baby a name. I didn’t care if they killed him, I said, but before he died I wanted him to give my baby his name.” She paused. “I was very convincing.”

“So you weren’t really pregnant?” Ruth asked.

“No, of course not,” her grandmother replied. “It was a ploy to get into the house.”

“Was the priest a real priest?”

“Yes. He didn’t know I was using him, but I had no alternative. I was desperate to get Jean-Claude out alive.”

“The priest knew nothing,” Ruth said, meeting Paul’s eyes, astounded by her grandmother’s nerve and cunning.

“The Father knew nothing,” the older woman concurred, smiling grimly. “But I needed him, so I used him. Thankfully the Gestapo believed me, and because they wanted to keep relations with the Church as smooth as possible, they brought Jean-Claude into the room.”

Ruth could picture the scene, but she didn’t know if she’d ever possess that kind of bravery.

“Jean-Claude was in terrible pain, but he nearly laughed out loud when the priest asked him if he was the father of my child. Fortunately he didn’t have to answer because our friends had arranged a distraction outside the house. A firebomb was tossed into a parked vehicle, which exploded. All but two Gestapo left the room. I shot them both right in front of the priest, and then Jean-Claude and I escaped through a back window.”

“Where did you find the courage?” Ruth asked breathlessly.

“Courage?” her grandmother echoed. “That wasn’t courage. That was fear. I would do anything to save my husband’s life—and I did. Then, only a few weeks later, I was the one who killed him. What took courage was finding the will to live after Jean-Claude died. That was courage, and I would never have managed if it hadn’t been for the American soldier who saved my life. If it hadn’t been for Sam.”

“He was my grandfather,” Ruth explained to Paul.

“I want to know more about Jean-Claude,” Paul said, placing his arm around Ruth’s shoulders. It felt good to be held by him and she leaned into his strength, his solid warmth.

Her grandmother’s eyes grew weary and she shook her head. “Perhaps another day. I’m tired now, too tired to speak anymore.”

“We should go,” Paul whispered.

“I’ll do the dishes,” Ruth insisted.

“Nonsense. You should leave now,” Helen said. “You have better things 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 to me. My dad did, as I told you, but he didn’t give me any details, and I never believed Mom’s involvement amounted to much—more along the lines of moral support, I always figured. My dad was over there and we knew that’s where he met Mom.”

“Did they ever go back to France?” Ruth asked.

“No. They did some traveling, but mostly in North America—Florida, Mexico, Quebec…”

“I guess she really was keeping the past buried,” Ruth said.

“She must realize she’s getting near the end of her life,” her father went on, apparently thinking out loud. “And she wants us to know. I’m grateful she was willing to share this with you. Still, it’s pretty hard to take in. My mother…part of the French Resistance. She told me she was in school over there.”

“She was.” Ruth didn’t want her father to think Helen had lied to him.

“Then how in heaven’s name did she get involved in that?”

“It’s a long story.”

“What made her start talking about it now?” her father asked.

“I think it’s because she knows she’s getting old, as you suggested,” Ruth said. “And because of Paul.”

“Ah, yes, this young man you’re with.”

“Yeah.”

Her father hesitated. “I know you can’t discuss this with Paul there, so give us a call later, will you? Your mother’s going to want to hear about this young man.”

“Yes, Daddy,” she said, thinking with some amusement that she sounded like an obedient child.

“I’ll call Mom this evening,” her father said. “We need to set up a visit ourselves, possibly for the Memorial Day weekend.”

After a quick farewell, she clicked off the phone and put it back in her purse.

Paul, still sipping his coffee, approached her again. She picked up her own cup as he sat down beside her.

“I haven’t enjoyed an afternoon more in years,” Paul said. “Not in years,” he added emphatically.

Ruth grinned, then drank some of her cooling coffee. “I’d like to believe it was my company that was so engaging, but I know you’re enthralled with my grandmother.”

“And her granddaughter,” Paul murmured, but he said it as if he felt wary of the fact that he found her appealing.

Ruth took his hand. “We haven’t settled anything,” he reminded her, tightening his hold on her fingers.

“Do we have to right this minute?”

He didn’t answer.

“I want to see you again,” she told him, moving closer.

“That’s the problem. I want to see you again, too.”

“I’m glad.” Ruth didn’t hide her relief.

Paul’s responding smile was brief. “Fine. We’ll do this your way—one day at a time. But remember, I only have two weeks’ leave.”

She could sense already that these would be the shortest two weeks of her life.

“By the time I ship out, we should know how we feel. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

He nodded solemnly. “Do you own a pair of in-line skates?” he asked unexpectedly.

“Sure, but I don’t have them in Seattle. I can easily rent a pair, though.”

“Want to go skating?”

“When?”

“Now?”

Ruth laughed. “I’d love to, with one stipulation.”

“What’s that?”

Ruth hated to admit how clumsy she was on skates. “If I fall down, promise you’ll help me up.”

“I can do that.”

“If I get hurt…”

“If you get hurt,” Paul said, “I promise to kiss you and make it better.”

Ruth had the distinct feeling that she wasn’t going to mind falling, not one little bit.

Six

Helen Shelton

5-B Poppy Lane

Cedar Cove, Washington

April 23

Dearest Charlotte,

Forgive me for writing rather than calling. It must seem odd, since we’re neighbors as well as friends. It’s just that sometimes writing things out makes it easier to think them through….

I have some news, by the way. You haven’t met my granddaughter, Ruth, but you’ve heard me speak of her. Well, she was over last week with a soldier she’s been writing to, who’s on leave from Afghanistan. He’s a delightful young man and it was easy to see that her feelings for him are quite intense. His name is Paul Gordon. When Ruth first introduced us, I’m afraid I embarrassed us both by staring at him. Paul could’ve been Jean-Claude’s grandson, the resemblance is that striking.

For the past few weeks, I’ve been remembering and dreaming about my war experiences. You’ve encouraged me for years to write them down. I’ve tried, but couldn’t make myself do it. However…I don’t know if this was wise but I told Ruth and her young man some of what happened to me in France. I know I shocked them both.

My son phoned later the same day, and John was quite upset with me, especially since I’d told Ruth and not him. I tried to explain that these were memories I’ve spent most of my life trying to forget. I do hope he understands. But Pandora’s box is open now, and my family wants to learn everything they can. I’ve agreed to allow Ruth to tape our conversations, which satisfies everyone. I’m afraid you’re right, my dear friend—I should’ve told my children long ago.

Do take care of yourself and Ben. I hope to see you soon.

Bless you, dear Charlotte,

Your friend always,

Helen

“I want you to meet my family,” Paul said a little more than a week after their first date. They’d spent every available moment together; they’d been to the Seattle Center and the Space Needle, rowing on Lake Washington, out to dinner and had seen a couple of movies. Sitting on the campus lawn, he’d been waiting for Ruth after her last class of the day. He stood when she reached him, and Ruth saw that he wasn’t smiling as he issued the invitation.

“When?”

“Mom and Dad are at the house.”

“You mean you want me to meet them now?” Ruth asked as they strolled across the lush green grass toward the visitors’ parking lot. If she’d known she was meeting Paul’s parents she would’ve been better prepared. She would’ve done something about her hair and worn a different outfit and…

“Yeah,” Paul muttered.

Ruth stopped and he walked forward two or three steps before he noticed. Frowning, he glanced back.

“What’s going on here?” she asked, clutching her books to her chest.

Paul looked everywhere but at her. “My parents feel they should meet you, since I’m spending most of my time in your company. The way they figure it, you must be someone important in my life.”

Ruth’s heart did a happy little jig. “Am I?” she asked flirtatiously.

A rigid expression came over him, betraying none of his feelings. “I don’t know the answer to that yet.”

“Really?” she teased.

“Listen, Ruth, I’m not handing you my heart so you can break it. You don’t want to be involved with a soldier. Well, I’m a soldier, and either you accept that or at the end of these two weeks, it’s over.”

He sounded so…so military. As if he thought a relationship could be that simple, that straightforward. Life didn’t divide evenly into black and white. There were plenty of gray areas, too. All right, so Paul had a point. In the back of her mind, Ruth hoped that, given time, Paul would decide to get out of the war business. She wasn’t the kind of woman who’d be content to sit at home while the man she loved was off in some faraway country risking his life. Experiencing dreadful things. Suffering. Maybe dying.

“You’d rather I didn’t meet your family?” she asked.

“Right.”

That hurt. “I see.”

Some of her pain must have been evident in her voice, because Paul came toward her and tucked his finger beneath her chin. Their eyes met for the longest moment. “If my family meets you, they’ll know how much I care about you,” he said quietly.

Ruth managed to smile. “I’m glad you care, because I care about you, too,” she admitted. “A lot.”

“That doesn’t solve anything.”

“No, it doesn’t,” she said, leaning forward so their lips could meet. She half expected Paul to pull away, but he didn’t.

Instead, he groaned and forcefully brought his mouth to hers. Their kiss was passionate, deep—honest. She felt the sharp edges of her textbooks digging painfully into her breasts, and still Ruth melted in his arms.

“You’re making things impossible,” he mumbled when he lifted his head from hers.

“I’ve been known to do that.”

Paul reached for her hand and led her into the parking lot. “I mentioned your grandmother to my parents,” he said casually as he unlocked the car doors.

“Ah,” Ruth said, slipping into the passenger seat. “That explains it.”

“Explains what?”

“Why your family wants to meet me. I’ve brought you to my family. They feel cheated.”

Paul shook his head solemnly. “I really don’t think that’s it. But…speaking of your grandmother, when can we see her again?”

“Tomorrow afternoon, if you like. I talked to her this morning before my classes and she asked when we could make a return visit.”

“You’re curious about what happened, aren’t you?” Paul asked as he inserted the key into the ignition.

“Very much,” Ruth said. Since their visit to Cedar Cove, she’d thought about her grandmother’s adventures again and again. She’d done some research, too, using the internet and a number of library books on the war. In fact, Ruth was so fascinated by the history of the Resistance movement, she’d found it difficult to concentrate on the psychology essay she was trying to write.

She’d had several days to become accustomed to the idea of Helen’s exploits during the Second World War. And yet she still had trouble imagining the woman she knew as a fighter for the French Resistance.

“She loved Jean-Claude,” Paul commented.

Ruth nodded. Her grandmother had loved her husband enough to kill him—a shocking reality that would not have made sense at any other time in Helen’s life. And then, at some point after that, Helen had met her Sam. How? Ruth wondered. Helen said he’d rescued her, but what were the circumstances? When did they fall in love? Family history told her that Sam Shelton had fought in the European campaign during the Second World War. He’d been in France toward the end of the war, she recalled. How much had he known about Helen’s past?

Ruth could only hope her grandmother would provide some answers tomorrow.

The meeting with Paul’s family was going well. Ruth was charmed by his parents, who immediately welcomed her. Barbara, his mother, had an easy laugh and a big heart. She brought Ruth into the kitchen and settled her on a stool at the counter while she fussed with the dinner salad.

Paul and his father, Greg, were on the patio, firing up the grill and chatting. Every now and then, Ruth caught Paul stealing a glance in her direction.

“I want to help,” Ruth told his mother.

“Nonsense,” Barbara Gordon said as she tore lettuce leaves into a large wooden bowl. “I’m just so pleased to finally meet you. It was as if Paul had some secret he was keeping from us.”

Ruth smiled and sipped her glass of iced tea.

“My father was career military—in the marines,” Barbara said, chopping tomatoes for the salad. “I don’t know if that was what induced Paul to join the military or not, but I suspect it had an influence.”

“How do you feel about him being stationed so far from home?” Ruth asked, curious to hear his mother’s perspective. She couldn’t imagine any mother wanting to see her son or daughter at that kind of risk.

Barbara sighed. “I don’t like it, if that’s what you’re asking. Every sane person hates war. My father didn’t want to fight in World War II, and I cried my eyes out the day Greg left for Vietnam. Now here’s my oldest son in Afghanistan.”

“It seems most generations are called upon to serve their country, doesn’t it?” Ruth said.

Barbara agreed with a short nod. “Freedom isn’t free—for us or for the countries we support. Granted, in hindsight some of the conflicts we’ve been involved in seem misguided, but unfortunately war appears to be part of the human condition.”

“Why?” Ruth asked, although she didn’t really expect a response.

“I think every generation has asked that same question,” Barbara said thoughtfully, putting the salad aside. She began to prepare a dressing, pouring olive oil and balsamic vinegar into a small bowl. “Paul told me you have a problem with his unwillingness to leave the marines at the end of his commitment. Is that right?”

A little embarrassed by the question, Ruth nodded. “I do.”

“The truth is, as his mother, I want Paul out of the marines, too, but that isn’t a decision you or I can make for him. My son has always been his own person. That’s how his father and I raised him.”

Ruth’s gaze followed Paul as he stood with his father by the barbecue. He looked up and saw her, frowning as if he knew exactly what she and his mother were talking about. Ruth gave him a reassuring wave.

“You’re in love with him, aren’t you?” his mother asked, watching her closely.

The question took Ruth by surprise. “I’m afraid I am.” Ruth didn’t want to be—something she hadn’t acknowledged openly until this moment. He’d described his reluctance to hand her his heart to break. She felt the same way and feared he’d end up breaking hers.

There seemed to be a tacit agreement not to broach these difficult subjects during dinner.

The four of them sat on the patio around a big table, shaded by a large umbrella. His mother had made corn bread as well as the salad, and the steaks were grilled to perfection. After dinner, Ruth helped with the cleanup and then Paul made their excuses.

“We’re going to a movie?” she whispered on their way out the door, figuring he’d used that as a convenient pretext for leaving.

“I had to get you out of there before my mother started showing you my baby pictures.”

“I’ll bet you were a real cutie.”

“You should see my brother and sister, especially the nude photos.”

Ruth giggled.

Instead of the theater, they headed for Lake Washington and walked through the park, licking ice-cream cones, talking and laughing. Ruth couldn’t remember laughing with anyone as much as she did with Paul.

He dropped her off after ten, walked her up to the front porch and kissed her good-night.

“I’ll pick you up at noon,” he said. “After your morning class.”

“Noon,” she repeated, her arms linked around his neck. That seemed too long. Despite her fears, despite the looming doubts, she was in love with him.

“You’re sure your grandmother’s up to having company so soon?” he asked.

“Yes.” Ruth pressed her forehead against his shoulder. “I think the real question’s whether we’re ready for the next installment. I don’t know if I can bear to hear exactly what happened to Jean-Claude.”

“Perhaps not, but she needs to tell us.”

“Yes,” Ruth said. “She couldn’t talk about it before.”

“I know.” Paul kissed her again.

Ruth felt at peace in his arms. Only when she stopped to think about the future, their future, did she become uncertain and confused.

Seven

Ruth and Paul sat with Helen at the kitchen table in her Cedar Cove house as rain dripped rhythmically against the windowpane. The day was overcast and dreary, as it frequently was during spring in the Pacific Northwest.

Helen reached for the teapot in the middle of the table and filled each of their cups, then offered them freshly baked peanut-butter cookies arranged on a small dessert plate. Ruth recognized the plate from her childhood. She and her grandmother had often had tea together when she was a youngster. Her visits to Cedar Cove were special; her grandmother had listened while Ruth chattered endlessly, sharing girlish confidences. It was during those private little tea parties that they’d bonded, grandmother and granddaughter.

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