“This is France, not Germany,” Julian said. “We’re medical staff and will be of no threat to them. They won’t hurt us.”
A feeling of dread twisted inside her. She stepped forward and hugged them. “S’il te plaît, you need to leave.”
They wrapped their arms around her.
“We took an oath to care for the sick,” Julian said, slipping away. “Our minds are made up—we will remain here.”
Ruth’s heart ached. “I hate leaving you.”
“It’s temporary, ma chérie.” Colette released her and looked into her eyes. “You are not casting aside your duties by going away—you’re aiding the fight. Without your help, it would be difficult for Aline and Pierre to reach safety. And by getting Jimmie out of France, the Allies will have one more airman to battle for Europe’s liberation.”
Tears welled in Ruth’s eyes and rolled down her cheeks. “I promise to come back.”
“You will—when France is free.” Using her hand, Colette wiped away Ruth’s tears.
The door to the apartment opened and Jimmie—his arm in a recently made plaster cast—entered the room. He glanced at Ruth and paused, placing a hand into his flight jacket pocket, as if he didn’t want to interrupt her goodbyes.
Julian went to Jimmie. “Is the truck loaded?”
“It is,” Jimmie said. “Everyone’s outside and ready to go.”
“Good luck to you,” Julian said, extending his hand.
“And you.” Jimmie shook his hand. “I’m grateful for the cast that you made me.”
“You’re welcome. Ruth and Lucette did a remarkable job with setting the bone and making a splint. It’s healing straight and, in four weeks, you can have it removed.”
Jimmie nodded.
Colette approached Jimmie. “We’ve only been together for a few days, but you feel like family. I wish you could have met my son, Marceau. Your spirit reminds me of him.”
“I appreciate you telling me that,” Jimmie said. “I feel honored to be compared to Marceau. Ruth has told me wonderful stories about him.”
Colette kissed him on both cheeks. “Leich l’shalom,” she said, softly.
“What does that mean?” Jimmie asked.
“Go toward peace.”
Jimmie nodded. “Leich l’shalom to you, too.”
A calm smile spread over Colette’s face, and she turned to Ruth. “Julian and I said our farewells to the others, but we can walk you outside.”
“Non. It’s chaotic on the street.” Ruth embraced her aunt and uncle one last time, holding them long and tight. “Je t’aime.”
“Je t’aime aussi,” Colette said.
Ruth, gutted and heartbroken, left the apartment with Jimmie. They descended the stairwell, partially blocked by a man who was lugging an antique steamer trunk down the steps. Outside, they maneuvered through a river of people and approached a bakery truck that Colette and Julian had acquired from their friend. A strange sense of déjà vu washed over Ruth as she looked at the vehicle that she’d used to teach Lucette to drive.
Lucette, dressed in her ambulance corps uniform, emerged from the opposite side of the vehicle with Aline and Pierre.
Aline weaved past three women with bags of luggage and reached Ruth. She looked up at her and said in a sweet, confident voice, “I’m sorry you are sad. It’s going to be okay.”
Ruth kissed her on the top of the head. “It will.”
Pierre gave Ruth a pat on the shoulder, and then climbed into the back of the truck with his granddaughter.
Lucette held out a key. “Do you want to drive first or second?”
Ruth wiped her eyes. “I could use a bit of distraction. How about I take the wheel first?”
Lucette gave her the key and turned to Jimmie. “Sit up front with Ruth. I’ll join the others in the back.”
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“I insist,” Lucette said.
Ruth got behind the wheel and Jimmie sat in the passenger seat. She started the engine and looked at the fuel gauge. Three quarters of a tank, and more petrol will be impossible to come by. She blared the horn until the crowd began to move aside, and then she slipped the truck into gear, released the clutch, and carefully pulled away from the curb.
The shops were shuttered, and the streets of Paris were jammed with refugees. Despite police officers, who were laboring to direct pedestrian traffic at intersections, the stop-and-go pace was slow, and she was unable to accelerate the truck to little more than a walking speed. It took over an hour to exit the city center and, as Ruth made a left turn, a reflection of the Eiffel Tower appeared in her side mirror. A pang of sadness pierced through her. She gripped the wheel, peering at Paris’s beautiful wrought-iron structure, and silently vowed to return.
As they traveled through the outskirts of Paris, the skyline of the city gradually disappeared. Densely placed apartment buildings turned to plots of individual houses and eventually rural farmland. But the open space did little to diminish the congestion of people. An endless crowd covered both sides of the roadway, its berms littered with abandoned vehicles that had run out of fuel. Masses of pedestrians roamed over pastures, like huge herds of sheep. Ruth honked the truck’s horn, but weary people, shuffling along the roadway with their heads down, made little to no effort to move aside for her to pass.
“I’m sorry,” Ruth said, glancing at Jimmie.
“For what?”
“We should have left days ago. The roads are worse than anything we experienced on the way to Paris from the front. We’re making little progress at this speed—” She glanced at the fuel gauge. “And we won’t get far on half a tank of petrol.”
