The woman pursed her lips.
Ruth glanced at the line of people behind her. “You’re quite busy. It’ll prevent me from taking up more of your time tomorrow.”
The woman looked at her records. “Room two-eleven.”
“Thank you,” Ruth said.
“Next,” the woman called.
Ruth turned and made her way to the exit, but she paused, pretending to adjust her shoelace. The attendant lowered her head, and Ruth casually changed direction and walked down the corridor. She tiptoed up the stairs to the second floor and peeked around the corner to find a nurse exiting a room. She pressed her back against the wall and listened to the woman’s footsteps disappear, then crept down the hallway. A thick smell of antiseptic and floor cleaner filled the air. Her heartbeat quickened as she located the room, and she slipped inside and closed the door behind her.
The small room contained six female patients in beds with no partitions or curtains. On the far wall near a window was Lucette, who was sleeping with her leg bandaged and elevated on pillows. Ruth crept forward, and the eyes of the other patients fell upon her.
Ruth smiled at a woman, who had a bandage over one eye and was reading a book. “Hello.”
The woman lowered her book. “Hi.”
“I won’t be long—I’m checking in on my friend.”
The woman nodded.
Ruth went to the last bed, kneeled, and gently placed a hand on her friend’s shoulder.
Lucette stirred and opened her eyelids. “Ruth!”
Ruth placed a finger to her lips.
Lucette leaned over and hugged her. “Dieu merci,” she breathed.
Ruth squeezed her tight. “I’m so happy you’re alive.”
“You too.” Lucette slipped away. “A refugee agency took Aline to an orphanage—I don’t know the location. I didn’t have a say in the matter. A doctor put me to sleep to perform surgery on my leg and, when I woke up, I was told that she was gone. I feel horrible—I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay. I’m sure she’s in good care. We’ll find her after you get out of here.”
Lucette nodded. She shifted her body and winced.
“How’s the leg?”
“The doctor removed three pieces of shrapnel. I’ll be walking soon, but the doctor told me my dancing days are over.”
“He doesn’t know you like I do,” Ruth said, squeezing her hand. “You’ll be doing the can-can until you’re old and gray.”
Lucette smiled. “I see that you got rid of your uniform.”
Ruth nodded. An ache grew beneath her sternum.
“Where’s Jimmie?”
Tears welled up in her eyes. She fought to find her words, and her bottom lip quivered.
Lucette’s face went pale. “What happened?”
She drew a serrated breath. “Our ship was sunk by a German air raid. Jimmie was in the hull of the ship when the bombs struck—he didn’t make it out.”
“Non!” Lucette cried. “It can’t be.”
Ruth lowered her head and sobbed. She felt Lucette’s arms wrap around her. Together, they wept until a nurse made her rounds and ordered Ruth to leave.
CHAPTER 53
PLYMOUTH, ENGLAND—JUNE 22, 1940
On the afternoon that a French delegation signed an armistice with Germany, Ruth was sitting at the docks in Plymouth. She looked out over the harbor that contained an array of fishing boats and military ships, yet none of them were evacuation vessels. A deep sense of loss and grief gnawed at her core. The mission to evacuate Allied forces and civilians from ports in France is over. He’s not coming back and I need to move on. She got to her feet, brushed off the back of her dress, and made her way to the hospital to visit Lucette.
It had been days since an evacuation ship, carrying soldiers and refugees, arrived in Plymouth. However, Ruth continued to spend hours at the harbor, before and after visiting hours at the hospital. Even though she’d encountered no survivors from the hull of the Lancastria, her heart had struggled to let go of hope that he survived. But with each passing day, and with the end of evacuations from France, she’d gradually come to terms that her Jimmie was gone.
Since her arrival in Plymouth, she’d lived at a Salvation Army shelter for women that was overflowing with refugees. She’d slept twelve hours per day on an old army cot, not including naps, as if her mind and body craved hibernation. She and the other women had been fed well by selfless, volunteer aid workers. Fried cod and chips. Egg sandwiches. Slices of cottage pie. Tins of milk. She gradually gained weight and her strength improved and, for the first time in weeks, her belly didn’t ache with hunger. She felt eternally indebted to the women of the Salvation Army and Red Cross, and she promised herself that, for as long as she lived, she would give generously to their charities.
She’d spent hours at the hospital. Lucette had contracted a post-surgery infection, which delayed her physiotherapy and release date. However, the setback in her health did not prevent her from diligently working to locate Aline. In addition to Ruth requesting the Red Cross to find Aline, Lucette enlisted the help of the nurses on her floor to track down the name and location of her orphanage. To date, they were still working to find Aline. And it was shocking, to Ruth, how a hospital could allow a nine-year-old girl to be taken away without any records—regardless of the chaos with tens of thousands of refugees pouring into England.
At the hospital, Ruth went to the second floor and entered Lucette’s room. She froze at the sight of her friend’s empty bed.
“Where’s Lucette?”
“Down the hall with a nurse,” a female patient said, scribbling on a crossword puzzle while propped up in bed. “She’ll be back in a few minutes.”
“Thanks.”
