The Room on Rue Amélie Page 16

  And then, in the final days of May 1942, everything became worse. The order came down that all Jews in France were obligated to wear a yellow star on the left side of their coats. They had just a few days to pick up the cotton insignias from their local police stations, and by the second week of June, there would be stiff penalties for those caught on the streets without them.

  Papa retrieved the stars for the family, and Maman dutifully sewed them onto the coats and sweaters they wore most frequently. “It’s just a Star of David,” Papa said, his tone strangely flat. “Nothing to be ashamed of. After all, we’re proud to be Jewish.”

  “But people will laugh at us,” Charlotte said softly, slipping into her own coat with the hateful yellow blemish.

  “Those who treat us poorly because of the star are the same ones who have hated us all along.” Papa didn’t meet her gaze. “Just hold your head high.” But Charlotte could see the pain in Papa’s face, and she knew that the new law was wounding him as much as it was wounding her.

  The first time she wore the star during a walk with Papa, a bearded man spat on her, his saliva landing on her right cheek. She blinked back tears and refrained from reacting until she’d turned the corner, out of his sight. A group of teenage boys yelled from a doorstep, calling her a dirty Jew, and a German soldier sneered at her with a look of such disgust that she had to stop herself from physically recoiling. By the time she and Papa made it back inside their own building, she was shaking.

  “It’s not fair,” she murmured, trying to stop crying. Papa embraced her quickly and went into the apartment ahead of her, his face dark with worry, telling her to take all the time she needed to settle herself, but that she mustn’t upset Maman.

  She was still trying to calm down when Ruby’s door opened. “Charlotte?” Ruby asked, stepping into the hall. “What is it?”

  “It’s the star,” Charlotte managed, and despite her best intentions, she began to sob harder.

  Ruby pulled Charlotte into her arms. “What’s happened?”

  “I don’t understand why people hate us so much.”

  “Why don’t you come in for a little while? Let’s talk about this.”

  “But you’re busy.” Charlotte pulled away. “I don’t want to interrupt if you have a . . . guest.”

  Ruby smiled. “The place is all ours today, Charlotte. Please. Join me.”

  Charlotte followed Ruby in, marveling at how different the apartment felt to her now, although it looked virtually the same as it always had. Most weeks, Ruby came to Charlotte’s apartment for her English lesson, so Charlotte hadn’t been here in a while. And while the décor had changed only minimally after Marcel’s death, there was something about knowing that it was a haven for heroes that transformed everything.

  Ruby fetched them each a small cup of ersatz coffee, and Charlotte felt very adult as she stirred a lump of sugar into hers and took a sip.

  “So tell me,” Ruby said, sitting on the couch beside her. “Are you different today than you were yesterday?”

  Charlotte paused with her cup halfway to her mouth. “Well . . . no.”

  “Well then, the only thing that has changed is what you’re wearing. Am I correct?”

  Charlotte glanced down at the yellow star. “Yes. But—”

  “But nothing,” Ruby interrupted firmly. “You should be proud of who you are, what you are. You don’t think I stick out here every day because of my terrible French accent? I know people are mocking me.”

  Charlotte allowed herself a tiny smile. Ruby’s accent was pretty awful, though her vocabulary was nearly perfect. “Yes,” she said after a long pause, “but no one spits at you in the streets for being American.”

  Ruby put an arm around her and squeezed hard. “Charlotte, you know as well as I do that it’s what’s inside a person that counts. And sometimes, you have to walk through fire in order to find your true self. Maybe this is your fire.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that sometimes, we only discover our calling in life when things are darkest.” Ruby grasped Charlotte’s shoulders and looked into her eyes. “Use this experience to make you stronger.”

  Charlotte stared at her lap for a long time as she thought about what Ruby was saying. She knew the advice was sound, but taking it was easier said than done. Finally, she looked up. “I think it’s bothering my father very much too.”

  Ruby’s expression softened. “That’s very good of you to worry about him, Charlotte. But your papa’s a very religious man, isn’t he?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then trust that he will find solace in that. That’s one thing faith is especially good for: giving us strength in times of crisis.”

  “How do you know?” Charlotte didn’t mean to sound rude. “You’re not Jewish.”

  “No, I’m Catholic. And in the end, Catholicism isn’t really so different. Believing in God is at the core of our faith, just like yours, and as things have gotten more difficult for me, Charlotte, I’ve learned to pray harder. It’s brought me comfort.”

  “How? Prayers are just words.”

  “But they’re words that remind us that there’s something out there greater than ourselves. And they’re words that lead us to be the best versions of ourselves.”

  Charlotte looked at Ruby for a long time before nodding. “Okay.”

  Ruby pulled the girl into a hug. “Things are always darkest before the dawn, my friend.”

  “I know.” But what Charlotte didn’t say was that sometimes, the dawn never came at all.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  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.”

  “No, Maman!” Charlotte tried again. “If they come, I will go with you.”

  “No, darling, you won’t.” Madame Dacher took her daughter’s hands. “Now there isn’t much time, and you mustn’t argue. You must be strong, Charlotte. And you must be brave. Don’t be afraid to be who you are. Promise you’ll never forget us.”

  “But, Maman!” Charlotte was sobbing now, but Madame Dacher kissed her on the forehead and backed away.

  “You must go, before it’s too late.” Madame Dacher looked at Ruby with tears coursing down her cheeks and mouthed Thank you before turning back to Monsieur Dacher. “Say good-bye to Charlotte, Reuven.”

  He knelt before his daughter. “Your mother is overreacting, dear. If the police come for us, it’s just a misunderstanding that we’ll have cleared up soon. But in the meantime, be good for Madame Benoit.”

  “We must go.” Ruby felt as if her heart were shattering as she took Charlotte’s hand and pulled the girl away. “Before the police arrive.” She paused at the doorway and turned back to Monsieur Dacher once more. “You are sure you don’t want to try to get away while there’s still time? I could hide you too.”

  He met her gaze and smiled. “This is France, Madame Benoit. We are French citizens. I feel very certain we will see you in the morning.”

  Ruby knew that there wasn’t enough time to change Monsieur Dacher’s mind, so she nodded at him, locked eyes with Madame Dacher for a few awful seconds, and led a sobbing Charlotte down the hall and into her own apartment.

  “You must climb into the wardrobe, sweetheart,” she said quickly, as soon as she had shut and locked the door behind her.

  “No!” Charlotte said, beginning to cry harder. “Maybe I can convince my parents to leave.”

  “There’s no time, honey.”

  “But what if they’re taken away?”

  “Then we hope and pray that your father is right,” Ruby said, wiping away Charlotte’s tears.

  “But you don’t believe he is, do you?”

  Ruby didn’t know how to reply. Being honest with Charlotte would only make the girl feel worse, but she didn’t want to lie to her either. She settled for saying gently, “Perhaps the police won’t come for your parents at all. But just to be on the safe side, Charlotte, let’s get you hidden. You mustn’t make a sound, no matter what. Understand?” Ruby pulled the girl into a tight hug and then took her hand and led her quickly into the bedroom, where she arranged some blankets on the floor of the wardrobe in which she’d once hidden Thomas.

  “I’ll come get you as soon as I’m sure the police are gone,” she promised.

  Charlotte nodded, and Ruby quickly closed
the wardrobe. No sooner had she done so than she heard noises in the hall. She made her way to her door as quietly as possible and peered out the peephole, terrified for both her hidden pilot and Charlotte’s parents.

  The police were here, just as Ruby had feared.

  There were four of them—the same four who had dragged the woman and her children from the building across the way—and they made a beeline for the Dachers’ door, knocking loudly. After a moment, Monsieur Dacher answered, already dressed in crisp gray slacks, a button-down shirt, and suspenders. He looked like he was headed out for a business meeting. “We are here for Reuven Dacher and his family,” one of the policemen, the one who had slapped the crying woman across the street, said.

  “I am Reuven Dacher.” His voice was shaky but strong. “But there is some mistake. I am a French citizen, a war veteran. I am a furrier. I have many ties to the community, and I—”

  “You will come with us. I’m sure if there is a mistake, it will be sorted out in the morning.” The police officer consulted the papers in his hands. “Your wife, Sarah, and your daughter, Charlotte, must also come.”

  Ruby could feel herself shudder. This was no ordinary arrest if they had children on their list. She could see the same realization cross Monsieur Dacher’s face.

  “My wife, I will get her.” His voice was trembling now. “But Charlotte—our daughter—is with friends in Aubergenville.”

  The policeman smirked at him. “You expect us to believe that?”

  “You can come in and search all you like, but she is not here.” Monsieur Dacher cleared his throat and added, “Besides, she was born here in France. She is as French as anyone else in this building.”

  “And yet you and your wife are not. You were born in”—the policeman consulted his list again—“Poland.”