Christmas In Cedar Cove: 5-B Poppy Lane

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.”