Thomas took off just past dawn, marveling, as he often did, at the glorious colors of the world at both ends of the day. Dawn and dusk were like beautiful bookends, and though the color often leached from the sky as noon approached, the day always began and ended with the same magnificent hues. Thomas smiled to himself that morning, thinking of how, when the war was over, he would take Ruby for a flight through the sunrise sky. Would the colors near the horizon—the oranges, the reds, the yellows—remind her of the poppies she’d told him about? Did the sunrises look the same over California?
He thought of Ruby as he flew, wondered what she was doing right now. He’d seen the newsreel footage of the liberation of Paris, and he’d searched the jubilant crowds for her face, knowing that the odds of seeing her were slim. Still, he imagined her—with Charlotte and Lucien by her side—dancing victorious down the Avenue des Champs-élysées. He felt a great sense of relief; she would no longer have to put herself in danger by sheltering pilots. If Paris was free, then so was Ruby. The end of the war was in sight, and one day soon, he’d be able to return to her. As he flew north, he imagined that he could see all the way to the French capital, could see the French flags flying triumphant over the city once again.
In what felt like no time, the French coast was upon him. Beneath the Spit, the water gleamed a perfect topaz blue. Ramatuelle, a fingernail of a village carved out beneath Saint-Tropez, seemed to rise from the edge of the sea, its rooftops glowing sherbet orange in the morning light as they crawled up the cliffs away from the water. He could make out a church tower, a forest beyond that, a few boats bobbing serenely in the water. He could see the airstrip in the distance, and he began to prepare for landing.
And then, everything went wrong.
It started with a shudder, an abrupt rat-tat-tat in the engine that felt unfamiliar and strange. Frowning, Thomas checked his instrument controls, but he didn’t need them to tell him the most pressing problem: he was losing altitude, and fast. Had he been hit? Had something happened to the fuel line? Was there an electrical problem? He was usually an ace at diagnosing problems and reacting calmly, but right now, he was at a loss. Everything had been fine one moment, and the next, his plane had gone haywire for no apparent reason at all.
He radioed Ramatuelle with a distress call. “Can you hear me? I’m losing altitude. Need to attempt emergency landing.” The only response was a faint crackle. He could see the coastline, but he wouldn’t reach it, not at the rate he was falling. His mind spun as the plane continued to descend. Could he save the aircraft? To lose a Spitfire now, on an errand like this, seemed foolish.
On the other hand, if he couldn’t bring her in closer to the coast, he was out of luck. Spits weren’t designed to float, and neither were the pilots enclosed in their cockpits. So that was it. He’d have to eject. The Spit was headed for the sea, and he didn’t want to go with her.
Quickly, fighting a wave of disappointment, he went into survival mode, ripping off his oxygen mask and radio plug and detaching his safety harness. For a frozen second, he thought of the last time he’d gone down over France, when he’d parachuted in over Saint-Omer. He thought of the things that had happened after that, the way Ruby had felt in his arms, the sense that he was living his destiny, the feeling that his life was forever tied to hers.
And then, he reached for the release toggle, but nothing happened. The canopy hood didn’t open. He tried again, desperately, and when the switch remained stuck, he began to claw at the hood, doing his best to force it open.
But the hood was jammed, and as the sickening realization hit, Thomas’s heart sank. His only option was reaching the small strip of sandy, rocky beach that he could see in the distance, but he knew that it was impossible. He’d been flying Spitfires for years now, and he understood exactly what this plane was capable of—and what she couldn’t do.
He slammed his hands against the canopy again and again, knowing that his only chance of survival now would be to break the seal and pray that the plane’s plunge into the water was gentle enough not to knock him unconscious. But the Spit was descending too quickly. As the sea rose up to meet him, he knew with a terrible certainty that this was the end.
Thomas closed his eyes, and the world Ruby had painted with her words came alive. In the distance, he could see the house with the white picket fence, the one where they would raise their children together. But before he could get there, he had to make it through the brilliant sea of poppies. The flowers gleamed beautiful, magical, just like the sunrise, and as they danced in the breeze all around him, he could feel himself smiling. They were welcoming him home.
“Ruby!” he cried out just as his Spit plunged into the shallow sea a few hundred yards from the French coast. Just beyond the poppies, there she was, smiling and beckoning, letting him know that at long last, it was all right to rest.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
August 1944
Ruby was vaguely aware of murmurs, quiet voices, whispered questions, and then, something like music. She strained to listen, and it was only after a few moments that she realized what the sound was. A baby cooing. Her baby cooing. “My baby!” she managed to whisper, though the world felt hazy and untenable. Where was she? How long had she been sleeping? Why couldn’t she see more than foggy shapes?
Eva, the farmer’s wife, appeared in her field of vision, carrying a small, perfect bundle. “You’re awake, Ruby. Would you like to say hello to your daughter?”
Ruby’s throat constricted as Eva brought the baby closer and placed her gently on Ruby’s chest. Her vision cleared enough that she could see the baby’s face in all its perfect detail. She was beautiful, healthy against all the odds. She had Thomas’s brilliant blue eyes, and for a few seconds, as Ruby gazed into them, she had the feeling that Thomas was right here with her. She could hardly wait until they were together again. Soon, they’d all go home. Not home to Paris, but home to the United States, the place they’d spend the rest of forever together. She knew her parents would love Thomas and their new granddaughter with all their hearts, and they’d welcome Charlotte with open arms too. Ruby would show them the world of poppies, the way that each new day exploded in a symphony of colors and hope. She could see the future, and it was glorious.
Although Ruby felt weak, she was still able to hold her baby, who was rooting around for her mother’s breast. Tears came to Ruby’s eyes, for she wasn’t producing milk; it was impossible after Ravensbrück.
“We have some milk for her,” Eva said, seeming to read Ruby’s mind. “She’ll be all right.”
“Thank you,” Ruby rasped, still astonished at her good fortune to have ended up here. She swore to herself that she would repay Eva and Fritz one day.
“What is her name?” Eva asked. “Your daughter?”
Ruby smiled down at the baby in her arms for a moment without replying. She had hair the color of midnight and the tiniest fingers and toes Ruby had ever seen. Her skin was pale and her cheeks were pink. She was far smaller than she should have been, maybe only five pounds, but she was healthy and whole, which seemed impossible. She was, Ruby knew, the very definition of a miracle. And that gave her hope for the future, for if miracles could happen within her own body, they could happen anywhere. It meant that Thomas would come back to her, that Charlotte would be waiting for her in Paris.
“Nadia,” Ruby murmured with a smile, thinking of her Russian friend who had given her this gift, this chance of survival, at the cost of her own life. The child she had saved would forever bear her name. “Her name is Nadia. It means hope.”
Eva had tears in her eyes as she smiled down at Ruby and the baby. “Nadia,” she said softly. “A beautiful name.”
“Yes.” Ruby gazed down at her daughter, who looked up at her mother’s face, searching. “My sweet little girl. You will have a good life, my darling. I promise you.”