Wooden chair legs scraped over the floor. Women’s eyes turned to Lucette as she left the interview table and approached Ruth.
“Did it go all right?” Ruth asked.
Lucette smiled. “Oui. I’ll see you in the staging area; they’re going to give us a driving test when the interviews are finished. Break a leg.”
She nodded.
“Ruth Lacroix!” the receptionist called.
Ruth straightened her back. She stood and walked to the front of the room, where a thin, middle-aged man wearing a khaki-colored uniform was seated behind a table with an engraved nameplate that read: Chief Corporal Faucher. Seated to his side was a woman in her mid-thirties with a round face, pale complexion, and bags under her brown eyes. She wore a beret and olive-colored military style uniform with a white armband emblazoned with a red cross.
“I’m Chief Corporal Faucher,” the man said. “Madame Bain, a civilian member of the ambulance corps, will be sitting in on the interview.”
She extended her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Ruth Lacroix.”
“Give me your application and driver’s license, then sit,” the man said, making no effort to shake hands.
Ruth, feeling foolish, gave him the documents and sat in a chair across the table from them.
“What makes you think that you’re suited to be an ambulance driver?” the man asked.
“I grew up on a farm,” Ruth said. “I learned to drive tractors and trucks before I turned sixteen. Also, I’m mechanically adept. My father and I performed the repairs on our vehicles. I have experience—”
“Where are you from?” the corporal interrupted.
“Maine, United States.”
He frowned and scanned her application. “Are you a French citizen?”
“Non, but I’m a legal French resident.” She reached for her purse. “I brought my passport and a foreigner’s identity card.”
“That will not be necessary.” The corporal folded his arms. “We’re only accepting French civilians.”
Ruth’s eyes widened.
Madame Bain wrinkled her forehead.
“Please,” Ruth said. “There must be some exceptions. I have a French driver’s license. I’ve been living and working in France for two years.”
“It makes no difference,” he said. “You’re an American, and your country has declared its neutrality in the war.”
Ruth felt sick to her stomach.
Madame Bain tentatively turned to the man. “Excusez-moi, Chief Corporal. I think we might have a woman in the corps who is from a neutral country—Switzerland, I believe. Would you like me to check the records?”
The corporal glared at her. “Non. You’re mistaken.”
The woman lowered her chin.
The corporal pushed Ruth’s documents across the table. “Au revoir, mademoiselle.”
No! This can’t be happening! She reluctantly rose from her chair but her feet remained planted. “The decision whether to accept me is yours, Chief Corporal, but I need to speak my piece.”
The corporal, appearing startled, shifted in his seat.
“In the Great War, my father fought as an American soldier alongside Frenchmen on the western front, and my maman—a Parisian—served as a nurse in a field hospital.” Ruth looked into the corporal’s eyes. “Two months ago, my cousin was killed in Germany’s Saarland while fighting for the French Army.”
Madame Bain’s jaw slacked open. “I’m deeply sorry.”
“Merci.”
“You have my condolences,” the corporal said. “But this doesn’t change the fact that you’re not a French citizen. That will be all, mademoiselle.”
Ruth clenched her hands, her fingernails digging into her palms. “Please, let me finish.”
“Leave or I’ll have you removed,” the corporal said, raising his voice.
Women candidates put down clipboards and stared at Ruth. Lucette, standing in the staging area, cupped a hand to her mouth.
Ruth fought back her fear and held her ground. “My French roots run deep, regardless of the country on my passport. Nazi Germany is ravaging Europe, and I’m not about to abandon the people and country I love. You can reject me from serving in the corps, but I promise you this, Chief Corporal—I will join the fight, even if I need to drive my own truck to the Maginot Line.”
The corporal’s face turned red. “Out! Now!”
A wave of defeat washed over her. She collected her things and turned to the sound of boots clacking over the floor.
A tall man, wearing a French military officer’s tunic, approached the table. “Is there a problem?”
The corporal got to his feet and saluted. “Non, Captain Joubert. I have everything under control, sir.”
