Ruth and Lucette had pressed the corporal on a location to report to, but he’d shrugged and told them that there was nothing more he could do. They exited the ambulance corps headquarters to the wail of fire engines, racing through the city toward plumes of smoke. Despite having no ambulance or post assignment, they were determined to help with the aftermath of the German raid. So, they waved down the driver of a local hospital ambulance, who allowed them to hitch a ride on his route to the west side of the city. Thirty minutes later, they arrived at the destroyed Citroën automobile factory. Firefighters put Ruth and Lucette to work, helping to place the injured in nonmilitary ambulances and vehicles to be rushed to hospitals, and to move the dead to a nearby annex building.
By late afternoon—over twenty-four hours after the German air raid—the search and rescue effort subsided. Haggard firemen gradually began to leave, but a long line of grieving family members stretched from the makeshift morgue, where a priest and medic were assisting people to identify the dead.
Ruth, her mind and body drained, sat down on a pile of bricks. For the past day, she’d fought to remain strong and resilient while seeing horrific things. But now that her work was finished, the floodgates that held back her emotions broke open. Her body trembled, and tears spilled from her eyes.
Lucette settled beside her.
“All those poor people,” Ruth said, her voice raw.
Lucette’s bottom lip quivered. “Unspeakable.”
“It’s not supposed to happen this way,” Ruth said. “Wars are supposed to be fought on battlefields and in trenches.” She wiped her eyes and glanced at a wailing woman who was being consoled by a priest. Her stomach felt nauseous. “Hitler’s Luftwaffe has taken the war to cities, with no regard for the killing of civilians.”
Lucette placed a hand on her friend’s shoulder.
Ruth blinked tears from her eyes. “No matter how bad things get, I will never give up.”
“Neither will I.”
Ruth and Lucette silently remained on their pile of bricks until the sun began to set and their sorrow subsided. They hitched a ride on a firetruck to the center of Paris and climbed out to sidewalks bustling with people who were exiting their apartment buildings with bags and luggage. A woman, pushing a stroller packed with clothes and two wheels of cheese, brushed past them.
“The bombing has accelerated the exodus,” Lucette said.
“It has, and it will only get worse in the coming days.”
Lucette nodded. “What do you think we should do about trying to find a post with an ambulance?”
“I don’t know,” Ruth said. “We’ve been up for two days and I’m having trouble thinking clearly. Perhaps we could decide tomorrow, after we get some rest.”
Lucette nodded.
“What are your plans?” Ruth asked.
“The telephone lines were down when I stopped by my place before the air raid. I’d like to check again to see if I can get a message through to my parents in Toulouse.”
“Did you receive any news on Paul?”
“Non,” Lucette said, lowering her eyes.
“You will,” Ruth said. “He’s going to be okay.”
Lucette nodded.
“After you stop by your apartment,” Ruth said, “come over and stay with us. Maybe my aunt and uncle’s telephone will be working. I forgot to check it when I was there.”
“But your place is full—Pierre and Aline are staying with you.”
Ruth wondered, although briefly, where Jimmie had gone after reporting to the embassy. He might have been ordered to go to an air base, or maybe he was directed to a port for passage to Britain. Either way, I may never see him again. She shook away her thought and said, “It’s safer if we stick together. You can sleep in my room. The bed is plenty big enough for two.”
“I’m filthy,” Lucette said, running a hand over her uniform. “I need to bathe and clean my clothes.”
“Then wash, put on some old clothes, and bring your dirty uniform over to my apartment. We can clean them together.”
“You’re not giving up on this, are you?”
Ruth shook her head. “I’m not going to let you be alone after what we’ve been through. I’m sure you’d do the same for me if I was going off to an empty apartment.”
“True.” Lucette, her eyes filled with gratitude, looked at Ruth. “Merci. I’ll be over late this evening.”
They went their separate ways and Ruth began her walk toward Le Marais, all the while weaving through people who were on their way out of the city. Her body ached and her brain was foggy, but when she neared Saint-Antoine Hospital, she felt compelled to check in on her aunt and uncle, even if she would likely be turned away. At least I’ll know that they are okay.
She entered the hospital to a frenzy of nurses and doctors who were caring for bomb victims. Moans and cries cut through the air, filled with a smell of antiseptic, and the lobby and a main corridor were lined with occupied gurney beds. She’d expected that most of the injured would be workers from the Citroën automobile factory, but many of the patients were children. Several meters away, a young boy—whimpering while being held by a nurse—was having his head laceration stitched by a doctor. The wheels of a gurney squeaked as a grammar-school-age girl, her hair matted with dirt and her legs wrapped in bandages, was rushed toward an operating room.
Oh, God. Her muscles turned weak.
“Ruth!”
She turned.
Aunt Colette, her nurse uniform smeared with blood on one of the sleeves, ran to Ruth and wrapped her arms around her.
Ruth hugged her.
“Dieu merci!” Colette released her and looked at Ruth’s soot-covered clothing. “Are you all right?”
“I am,” Ruth said. “I was helping to remove injured workers at an automobile factory.” Ruth glanced at a child who was receiving stitches. “What happened?”
“A bomb struck a school,” Colette said. “Eighteen of the wounded children were sent here.”
