July 1942
The pilot who came to Ruby’s door in mid-July, a twenty-three-year-old American from Boston named Samuel Sullivan, arrived after the curfew, which Ruby knew was dangerous. The French police had been cracking down on violators, and if Samuel had been picked up near her apartment, he might very well have given her away. Ruby welcomed him anyhow and made a mental note to speak with Aubert about it later. They’d taken to meeting every two weeks in the back of an abandoned dance studio on the rue d’Estrées, and sometimes, Laure would join them. Ruby had never asked her about the journey south with Thomas because she knew the rules; they weren’t to speak of the pilots after they’d departed. Ever. But she was still envious of the time the beautiful raven-haired guide had spent with the kind, charming pilot. Ruby had assumed at the beginning that she would forget about him as the months went on, but he was still the first thing on her mind each day when she awoke.
“Something’s going on out there tonight, you know,” Samuel said after Ruby had given him some bread, cheese, water, and fresh clothes.
“What do you mean?”
He shook his head. “I’m not sure, honestly. But there’s a lot of police activity on the streets. You don’t think they’re gearing up for a raid, do you?”
Ruby felt a ripple of fear. “Where were they? Only in this neighborhood?”
“No, miss. It’s what took me so long. There were police out all across Paris tonight.”
“German?”
“French, I think.”
“Hmm.” What Samuel was describing sounded unusual. After all, the French police rarely did things on their own; they were the Germans’ puppets. If they were out in force, there was no question that the Germans were behind it. But was Samuel exaggerating? Ruby didn’t know him at all, so it was impossible to tell. “I’m sure things are fine,” she said after a long pause. “None of them spotted you, did they?”
“No. I was very careful.”
“Good. Now, let’s get you settled for the night, shall we? I’ll come get you in the morning once the building is quiet, and we can talk about the next step.”
“It’s very kind of you to help me.”
“It’s not kindness. It’s my duty.” It had become her line lately, and she meant it. She really wasn’t doing anything extraordinary. In fact, if anything, she feared her role on the line was selfish, for it filled her days so she didn’t have time to worry about whether Thomas was still alive. Nor did she have time to wonder why she cared so much.
She stepped outside her front door, listening to the silence of the building. When she was sure the coast was clear, she hurried Samuel into the hall closet, which she had filled with freshly laundered blankets just that afternoon. He’d be comfortable there for the night.
After she’d gotten him settled, she went down the stairs and opened the door to the outside, but all was quiet. She could hear trucks clattering by in the distance, but on the rue Amélie, things were peaceful. A quick look to both ends of the shadow-cloaked street confirmed only the usual traffic.
Still, Ruby went to bed just past midnight feeling unsettled. She tossed and turned for a long while before sleep came, and she had just drifted off when a rumbling sound jolted her awake. She grabbed her watch from the nightstand as she flicked on a light. It was 4:25 in the morning, and something was going on outside.
She crept into the hall outside her apartment and peered out the building’s large front window, which was visible from the landing. The street was filled with two police lorries and a small transport bus already teeming with people. Four French policemen were entering the building just across the way, illuminated by the headlights of the lorries, and soon, two others emerged from the building next door, escorting a family of four, all of whom wore yellow stars on their overcoats. The mother and father looked sleep-tousled and worried; the children, two girls who couldn’t have been more than three and five, were crying.
A moment later, the first policemen she’d seen emerged from the building across the way with a sobbing mother and three young children. One of the policemen was screaming something at the woman, and she was shaking her head vigorously. This family, too, had yellow stars on their overcoats, which they were wearing on top of their pajamas. Ruby stifled a gasp as the policeman slapped the woman hard across her face, snapping her neck back. She quieted down after that, her cries now muffled sobs. She and her children were quickly shepherded onto the waiting bus, their suitcases shoved into the police lorry.
Ruby had seen enough.
She turned and ran to the Dachers’ apartment, where she pounded hard on the door. “Wake up, Monsieur Dacher! Madame Dacher! Charlotte! It’s an emergency!” The seconds ticked by, and Ruby knocked more insistently, knowing that she was probably waking half the building in the process. She prayed that people would stay in their apartments and the hidden pilot would have the good sense to remain quiet. Finally, Monsieur Dacher came to the door clutching a poker. His expression softened when he saw that it was Ruby.
“Madame Benoit,” he said, “what is it?”
“The police are rounding up Jews,” she said quickly. “They’re just outside. You must get out.”
She expected him to alert his wife, to grab the family’s things quickly, to flee; but instead, he shook his head. “No, no, that’s impossible, Madame Benoit.”
“Monsieur Dacher, I just watched two families, including children, dragged from their homes and loaded onto buses.”
“They must be foreigners,” Monsieur Dacher said, although his face had paled. “Not good French citizens like my wife and me.”
“I have no idea, but is that a chance you want to take? Besides, you were born elsewhere, weren’t you?”
He looked surprised. “Yes, but—”
He was interrupted by Madame Dacher appearing in the hall behind him, her face white. She looked younger without her makeup, more vulnerable than Ruby had ever seen her. “Reuven, do you really believe that they will leave us alone simply because you used to run a successful business?” She glanced at Ruby, her eyes wide and mournful, before looking back at her husband. “Madame Benoit is right. We are better safe than sorry.”
“But, Sarah, surely you don’t think—”
“Reuven!” Madame Dacher cut him off. “Now is not the time for your pride to get in the way.”
“But they’re rounding up stateless Jews, Sarah. They must be.”
“You don’t think they consider us that? The Nazis don’t care about your contributions to the French economy. They want to see us all removed.”
There was a moment of tense silence. “No,” Monsieur Dacher finally said, his tone resolute. “I won’t be driven from my home.”
“But—” Madame Dacher began.
“No,” he said firmly.
“Papa?” Charlotte said, emerging from behind her mother. She was wearing a pink nightgown, and her hair was plaited. She looked scared. “I think it’s true what Ruby is saying. I told you the butcher had heard rumors, and I—”
“And I told you that rumors are hardly ever true. You can’t believe everything you hear, my dear. We’ll be fine. If the police come here, we’ll simply explain that—”
“Stop, Reuven!” Madame Dacher said sharply, stepping forward. “I’m not willing to take this risk with Charlotte.” She turned to Ruby. “Will you take her? Protect our baby? If nothing happens tonight, she will come back in the morning.”
“But, Maman!”
Madame Dacher grasped Ruby’s hand, her eyes full of tears. “Please, Madame Benoit. I know you are brave and strong. And I know you care for Charlotte. Can you keep her if the Germans come for us? Just until we are able to get back safely.”
“Of course.”