"Perhaps I should come back at a more convenient time?" Ruth didn't want to interrupt the two women.

"Nonsense! She'd never forgive me if you left. Besides, I was just gathering my things to head on home. My husband will be wondering what's kept me so long." Charlotte led the way through the house to the patio.

As soon as Ruth stepped onto the brick patio, her grandmother's eyes lit up with pleasure. "Ruth! What a welcome surprise."

Ruth bent forward and kissed Helen's cheek.

Charlotte Rhodes collected her knitting, saying she'd talk to Helen at the Senior Center on Monday, and left.

"Sit down, sit down," Helen urged, motioning at the chair next to her. "Help yourself to iced tea if you'd like." Strands of yarn were wrapped around both index fingers as she held the needles. One was red, the other white. "You can find a glass, can't you?"

"Yes, of course, but I'm fine," Ruth assured her, enjoying the sunshine and the sights and sounds of Cedar Cove. The earth in her grandmother's garden smelled warm and clean-the way it only smelled in spring. Inhaling deeply, Ruth sat down, staring at the cove with its sparkling blue water.

"Where's Paul?" her grandmother asked, as if noticing for the first time that he wasn't with her.

Ruth's serenity was instantly destroyed and she struggled to disguise her misery. "He went to the marines camp in California."

"Oh." Her grandmother seemed disappointed. "I imagine you miss him."

Ruth decided to let the comment slide.

"I liked him a great deal," her grandmother said, rubbing salt into Ruth's already wounded heart. Helen's focus was on her knitting, but when Ruth didn't immediately respond, she looked up.

Ruth met her eyes and exhaled forcefully. "Would you mind if we didn't discuss Paul?"

Her request was met with a puzzled glance. "Why?"

Ruth figured she might as well tell her. "We won't be seeing each other again."

"Really?" Her grandmother's expression was downcast. "I thought highly of that young man. Any particular reason?"

"Actually," Ruth muttered, "there are several. He's in the military, which you already know."

Her grandmother carefully set her knitting aside and reached for her glass of iced tea, giving Ruth her full attention. "You knew that when you first met, I believe."

"Yes, I did, but I assumed that in time he'd be released from his commitment and return to civilian life. He told me that won't be the case, that the military's his career." In for the long haul, as he'd put it. Granted, she'd known about his dedication to the marines from the beginning, but he'd known about her feelings, too. Did her preferences matter less than his?

"I see." Her grandmother studied her.

Ruth wondered if she truly did. "What really upsets me is the heartless way he left. I told him I wasn't sure I could live with the fact that he'd chosen the military." The memory angered her, and she raised her voice. "Then Paul had the audacity to say that I wouldn't be hearing from him again and he...he just walked away." Ruth hadn't planned to spill out the whole story minutes after she arrived, but she couldn't hold it inside a second longer.

Her grandmother's response shocked her into silence. Helen smiled.

"Forgive me," her grandmother said gently, leaning forward to give Ruth's hand a small squeeze. "Sam did something similar, you see."

The irritation died instantly. "I wanted to ask you about my grandfather."

A peaceful look came over Helen. "He was a wonderful man. And he saved me."

"From the Germans, you mean?"

Helen shook her head. "Technically, it was General Patton and the Third Army who saved us. Patton knew what Buchenwald was. He knew that a three-hour wait meant twenty-thousand lives because the Germans had been given orders to kill all prisoners before surrendering. Against every rule of caution, Patton mounted an attack, cutting off the SS troops from the camp. Because of his decisive move, the Germans were forced to flee or surrender. By that time, the German soldiers knew they were defeated. They threw down their guns and surrendered. Sam was with Patton on the march, so, yes, he contributed to my rescue and that of countless others. But when I say your grandfather saved me, I mean he saved me from myself."

"I want to hear about him, if you're willing to tell me." Ruth straightened, perching on the edge of her seat.

Her grandmother closed her eyes. "I cannot speak about the years in Buchenwald, not even to you."

Ruth reached for Helen's hand, stroking the soft skin over the gnarled and prominent knuckles. "That's fine, Grandma."

"I wanted to die, wished it with all my heart. Without Jean-Claude, it was harder to live than to die. Living was the cruelest form of punishment." Tears pooled in her eyes and she blinked them away.

"When the Americans arrived," Helen continued, "the gates were opened and we were free. It was a delicious feeling-freedom always is-but one never appreciates it until it's taken away. The soldiers spoke English, and I went to them and explained that I was an American. I had no identification or anything to prove my claim, so I kept repeating the address where my parents lived in New York. I was desperate to get word to them that I was alive. They hadn't heard from me in almost five years.

"One of the soldiers brought me to their headquarters. I was completely emaciated, and I'm sure the stench of me was enough to nauseate anyone standing within twenty feet. The young man then took me to his lieutenant, whose name was Sam Shelton. From that moment forward, Sam took care of me. He saw that I had food and water, clothes and access to showers and anything else I needed."

Ruth shuddered at the thought of her grandmother's physical and mental condition following her release.

Her grandmother paused to take a deep breath, and when she spoke again, it was in another language, what Ruth assumed was German. Pressing her hand on Helen's, she stopped her. "Grandma, English, please."

Her grandmother frowned. "Sorry."

"Was that German?"

She shrugged, eyes wild and confused. "I don't know."

After all those years inside a German camp, it made sense that she'd revert to the language. In her mind she'd gone back to that time, was reliving each incident.

"Go on. Please," Ruth urged.

Helen sighed. "I don't remember much about those first days of freedom."

Ruth could understand that easily enough.

"Still, every memory I have is of the lieutenant at my side, watching over me. I was hospitalized, and I think I slept almost around the clock for three days straight, waking only long enough to eat and drink. Yet every time I opened my eyes, Sam was there. I'm sure that's not possible, but that's how I remember it."

She picked up her tea with a trembling hand and sipped the cool liquid. "After a week-maybe more, I don't know, time meant nothing to me-I was transported out of Germany and placed on a ship going to America. Sam wrote out his name and home address in Washington State and gave it to me. I didn't know why he'd do that."

"Did you keep it?" Ruth asked.

"I did," Helen confessed, "although I didn't think I'd ever need it. By the time I got back to New York, I was still skin and bone. My own parents didn't even recognize me. My mother looked at me, covered her face and burst into tears. I was twenty-four years old, and I felt sixty."

Ruth was in her twenties and couldn't imagine living through any of what her grandmother had described.

"Five months after I arrived, Sam Shelton knocked on my parents' brownstone. I'd gained weight and my hair had grown back, and when I saw him I barely remembered who he was. He visited for two days and we talked. He'd come to see how I was adjusting to life back in America."

Ruth had wondered about that, too. It couldn't have been easy.

"I hadn't done very well. My parents owned a small bakery and I worked at the counter, but I had no life in me, no joy. Now that I was free, I felt I had nothing to live for. My husband was dead, and I was the one who'd killed him. I told this American soldier, whom I barely knew, all of this. I told him I preferred to die. I told him everything-not one thing did I hold back. He listened and didn't interrupt me with questions, and when I was finished he took my hand and kissed it." The tears came again, spilling down her cheeks. "He said I was the bravest woman he'd ever known."

"I think you are, too," Ruth said, her voice shaky.

"When I'd finished, Sam told me he was part of D day," Helen said. "His company was one of the first to land on Omaha Beach. He spoke of the fighting there and the bravery of his men. He'd seen death the same way I had. Later, in the midst of the fighting, he'd stumbled across the body of his own brother. He had no time to mourn him. He didn't understand why God had seen fit to spare him and not his brother.

"This lieutenant asked the very questions I'd been asking myself. I didn't know why I should live when I'd rather have died with Jean-Claude-or instead of him." She paused again, as if to regain her composure.

"After that, Sam said he'd needed to do a lot of thinking and praying, and it came to him that his brother, his men had sacrificed their lives so that others could live in freedom. God had spared him, and me, too, and it wasn't up to either of us to question why. As for Jean-Claude and Tim, Sam's brother, they had died in this terrible but necessary war. For either of us to throw away our lives now would be to dishonor them-my husband and Sam's brother."

"He was right, you know."

Her grandmother nodded. "Sam left after that one visit. He wished me well and said he hoped I'd keep in touch. I waited a week before I wrote the first letter. Sam hadn't given me many details of his war experiences, but deep down I knew they'd been as horrific as my own. In that, we had a bond."

"So you and Grandpa Sam wrote letters to each other."

Helen nodded again. "For six months we wrote, and every day I found more questions for him to answer. His letters were messages of encouragement and hope for us both. Oh, Ruth, how I wish you'd had the opportunity to know your grandfather. He was wise and kind and loving. He gave me a reason to live, a reason to go on. He taught me I could love again-and then he asked me to marry him." Helen drew in a deep breath. "Sam wrote and asked me to be his wife, and I said no."

"You refused?" Ruth asked, hardly able to believe it.

"I couldn't leave my parents a second time.... Oh, I had a dozen excuses, all of them valid."

"How did he convince you?"

Her smile was back. "He didn't. In those days, one didn't hop on a plane or even use the phone unless it was a dire emergency. For two weeks he was silent. No letters and no contact. Nothing. When I didn't hear from him, I knew I never would again."

This was the reason her grandmother had smiled when Ruth told her she hadn't heard from Paul.

"I couldn't bear it," Helen admitted. "This soldier had become vitally important to me. For the first time since Jean-Claude died, I could feel. I could laugh and cry. I knew Sam was the one who'd lifted this heavy burden of pain from my shoulders. Not only that, he loved me. Loved me," she repeated, "and I'd turned him down when he asked me to share his life."

"What did you do next?"

Helen smiled at the memory. "I sent a telegram that said three words. Yes. Yes. Yes. Then I boarded a train and five days later, I arrived in Washington State. When I stepped off the platform, my suitcase in hand, Sam was there with his entire family. We were married two weeks later. I knew no one, so he introduced me to his best friends and the women they loved. Winifred and Clara became my dearest friends. They were the people who helped me adjust to normal life. They helped me find my new identity." She shook her head slowly. "Not once in all the years your grandfather and I were together did I have a single regret."

Ruth's eyes remained teary. "That's a beautiful love story."

"Now you're living one of your own."

Ruth didn't see it like that. "I don't want to be a military wife," she said adamantly. "I can't do it."

"You love Paul."

Ruth noted that her grandmother hadn't made it a question. She knew that Ruth's heart was linked with Paul's. He was an honorable man, and he loved her. They didn't have to share the same political beliefs as long as they respected each other's views.

"Yes, Grandma, I love him."

"And you miss him the same way I missed Sam."

"I do." It was freeing to Ruth to admit it. The depression that had hung over her for the past week lifted.

All at once Ruth knew exactly what she was going to do. Her decision was made.

Ten.

Barbara Gordon answered the doorbell, and the moment she saw Ruth, her eyes lit with delight. "Ruth, it's so good to see you!"

Ruth was instantly ushered into the house. She hadn't been sure what kind of reception to expect. After all, she'd disappointed and possibly hurt the Gordons' son.

"I was so hoping you'd stop by," Barbara continued as she led the way into the kitchen.

Obediently Ruth followed. "I came because I don't have a current address for Paul."

"You plan on writing him?" Barbara seemed about to leap up and down and clap her hands.

"Actually, no."

The happiness drained from the other woman's eyes.

"I know it's a bit old-fashioned, but I thought I'd send him a telegram."

The delight was back in place. "Greg," she shouted over her shoulder. "Ruth is here."

Almost immediately Paul's father joined them in the kitchen. His grin was as wide as his wife's had been. "Good to see you, good to see you," he said expansively.

"What did I tell you?" Barbara insisted.

The two of them continued to stand there and stare at her.

"About Paul's address?" Ruth prodded.

"Oh, yes." As if she'd woken from a trance, Barbara Gordon hurried into the other room, leaving Ruth alone with Paul's father.

It was awkward at first, and Ruth felt the least she could do was explain the reason for her visit. "I miss Paul so much," she told him. "I need his address."

Greg Gordon nodded. "He's missing you, too. Big-time."

Ruth's heart filled with hope. "He said that?"

"Not in those exact words," Greg stated matter-of-factly. "But rest assured, my son is pretty miserable."

"That's wonderful." Now it was Ruth who wanted to leap up and down and clap her hands.

"My son is miserable and you're happy?" Greg asked, but a teasing light glinted in his eyes.