THOMAS FLINCHED BUT DIDN’T AWAKEN as Ruby cleaned out his wound. And over the next two days, she tended to him as best she could, feeding him broth and then stale bread when he was able to keep food down. She wished she had more to share, but what she did give him seemed to help, and by the third night, his forehead was no longer burning, and some color had returned to his cheeks.
“I’m feeling much better,” he told her as she brought him a small dinner of bread and weak coffee. “I should probably get out of your bed now. I’m embarrassed that I took it for so long.”
“Don’t be silly. You’ve been sick. I’m just glad you’re on the mend.”
“Surely my being here is putting you in danger.”
Ruby avoided meeting his gaze. “You just focus on getting your strength back.”
“You’re an angel, you know that?” he said as she handed him a small glass of water. He drank it down gratefully. “An absolute angel, Ruby.”
She could feel herself blushing. “You remembered my name. I thought you might not; you were delirious when you got here.”
His eyelids were already growing heavy. “I can’t imagine forgetting a single thing about you.”
He drifted back to sleep before she could muster a response. And finally, for the first time in days, Ruby was sure that he would live, so she allowed herself to lie down on the floor beside the bed and close her eyes, just for a moment.
When she awoke, the first rays of dawn were streaming through the window, which meant she’d been asleep all night. She gasped and sat up, only to realize that the pilot was lying on his side, gazing down at her. “You’re awake,” he said. “I hope it’s not out of line for me to say that you’re beautiful when you sleep.”
She hid an embarrassed smile. “I’m very sorry. I didn’t mean to nod off.”
“And I didn’t mean to take over your life like this. I’m mortified that I let you sleep on the floor. I’m terribly sorry.”
“You weren’t in any condition to argue.” She stood and put a hand on his forehead. It was cool, the fever entirely gone. She breathed a sigh of relief. “I think you’ve turned a corner, Thomas.”
“You saved my life.”
“Oh, you would have been fine with or without me.”
He chuckled. He had a nice laugh, warm and strong. “Don’t for a minute believe I’m going to indulge your modesty. You’re a regular Florence Nightingale.”
She could feel her cheeks burning again, and she quickly changed the subject. “You said when you arrived that your friend had been here?”
“Yes, miss. Harry Cormack. He described your building exactly. But I was expecting to find your husband when I got here, not you.” He hesitated. “May I ask a personal question? Your husband . . . He’s not here anymore, is he?”
“What makes you say that?” She hadn’t told him that Marcel was dead, because she figured that it would be better if a strange man staying in her apartment had the idea that her husband could come home at any moment. But aside from his sheer size, there was nothing threatening about Thomas at all. He seemed kind and gentle, and his question appeared to come from a place of concern.
“I don’t see anything that looks like it belongs to him in your room. Am I wrong?”
“No.” Maybe she should have felt like he’d invaded her privacy, but he’d merely been observant. “He died a few months ago.”
“I’m terribly sorry. You must miss him.”
“Things between us weren’t very good at the end.” She couldn’t believe she’d just admitted that; she couldn’t explain why she’d said it. “But yes. His death was very sad. I missed him more than I expected at first.”
“And now you’re alone,” he said softly, his eyes on hers.
“Well, yes.” She felt suddenly flustered. “But I’m perfectly all right. Now let’s get you changed into some clean clothes.”
AFTER THOMAS HAD FALLEN BACK asleep, this time on the sofa, Ruby left a note saying she was going out. It didn’t feel wise to leave him alone in the apartment, but she was confident he was smart enough to hide or to climb out through the terrace if someone appeared at her door while she wasn’t there.
She walked quickly to the bakery on the rue de la Comète, the one Aubert had mentioned, keeping her head down the whole way. She was certain he would chide her for sheltering a pilot in an apartment the Nazis were already aware of, but she knew she’d made the right choice. If she had tried to move Thomas, he surely would have died. That his fever had broken and he was on the mend was nothing short of a miracle. Now, she needed another one.
As she waited in the queue at the bakery, she found herself thinking more than she should have been about the pilot. Not about her mission to save him—for that was to be expected—but about the way his presence filled her apartment. The way it had made her heartbeat quicken when she came into her room and saw him asleep in her bed. It was silly, of course, surely an indication that she’d been lonelier than she realized. But the truth was, it was something more than that, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.
It took her an hour to reach the front counter. “I’m looking for Aubert Moreau,” she said to the middle-aged woman with the beak nose who was standing there handing out loaves of bread.
“Never heard of him,” the woman snapped. “Ration card, please.”
“No, I know he’s here,” Ruby protested. “Or at least he was.”
“There is no one by that name here.”
“Please,” Ruby said, softening her tone as the woman looked past her, already focusing on the next customer. “I’m Marcel Benoit’s wife.”
The woman’s eyes snapped back to Ruby. “I have no idea who that is. But I suppose that if someone named Moreau dropped by, I could give him a message for you.”
Ruby regarded her warily. “There’s no message. Please just tell him I hoped to see him.”
“Yes, of course. Now, would you like some bread?”
Ruby realized she’d forgotten her ration card, but the woman pressed a loaf into her hand anyhow, holding her gaze for a beat too long. Either Ruby had just left word for Aubert that she needed help, or she had alerted the authorities to the fact that they should check out her apartment once again.
Thomas was awake and out of bed when she returned. She was surprised to find him standing in the living room, looking at some of her framed photographs. “I was starting to worry about you,” he said, smiling at her.
She took in the sight of him before responding. He was dressed in a pair of Marcel’s pants—far too tight and short on him—and one of Marcel’s old shirts, which looked like it was about to burst at the seams. He had washed his hair and he’d shaved, which made him look somehow more vulnerable too. He touched his cheeks self-consciously as she continued to stare. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I found a razor in the bathroom. I hope you don’t mind that I used it. I’m not accustomed to having a beard.”
“No, no, it’s fine,” Ruby said, tearing her eyes away.
“Is everything all right? You were gone for a while.”
Ruby nodded. “I was just trying to reach a man my husband worked with on the escape line. But I couldn’t find him.”
“I don’t mean to be a burden, miss.”
“First of all, you’re not a burden.” Ruby realized as she said the words just how true they were. “And second, you must stop calling me miss. How about just calling me Ruby?”
He laughed. “I’m sorry. Ruby it is.” He turned and gestured to one of the photos he’d been looking at when she came in. It was a snapshot of her when she was around fifteen, standing amid the poppies that bloomed each spring near her parents’ house in California. “This is you as a girl.” It was a statement, not a question. “You were happy.”
She looked up in surprise. Visitors to the apartment were often drawn to the picture, but they always commented on the vast field of flowers. Never on her. “Yes, I was.”