FRIDAY, JANUARY30, 1942
Her stomach roiling with worry and dread, Lucie trudged up Cedar Street. In a few minutes, she’d either have a joyful reunion with Josie or she’d have to tell the Aubreys their little granddaughter was lost at sea.
She shuddered in the icy air.
Along the street, large homes in a variety of styles stood apart from each other, surrounded by trees and lawns.
A young lady strolled past wearing a fashionable hat and coat, and she shot Lucie’s knit cap a look of surprise and disdain.
Lucie ignored her. The clothes on her back were her only remaining worldly goods. At least the sailors on the destroyer had laundered them, even giving her dungarees to wear while they did so. They’d treated her like a princess. She had no use for women who looked down on others based on clothing.
There were far more important things in life.
Like a little girl who might or might not reach her fifth birthday.
Fifty-seven Cedar Street was the largest home in the neighborhood, adorned with gables and cupolas.
Lucie’s wooden-soled Parisian shoes felt like lead as she climbed the steps, and she prayed Josie would be there.
Fingers shaking, she rang the bell.
A young woman in a gray dress and white apron answered the door.
“Good afternoon.” Lucie offered a smile. “My name is Lucille Girard. Is Mrs. Aubrey home?”
“Yes, ma’am.” The maid let her in, then entered a large sitting room to the left. “Excuse me, Mrs. Aubrey, but a Lucille Girard is here to see you.”
“Lucille—Girard?” a woman said. “Yes! Yes! Please show her in.”
Holding her breath, Lucie stepped forward.
A woman approached in a maroon shirtwaist dress, her gray-streaked dark hair rolled at the neck, her dark eyes wide. “Lucille Girard? Josie’s—” Her voice cracked.
Lucie didn’t dare release her dread. “Josie? She’s here? She’s—”
“She’s here. She’s fine.” She grasped both Lucie’s hands.
“Thank goodness.” Lucie’s voice and knees wobbled.
“She’s so worried about you. Dora! Quick. Bring Josie down.” Mrs. Aubrey guided Lucie toward a sofa. “Sit down. You look about to faint.”
“Any word from Paul?” Lucie searched for signs of her beloved in his mother and saw a resemblance in her eyes and chin.
“Not a word. Please sit. I have so many questions.”
Lucie’s legs gave way, and she sank onto the sofa, still holding Paul’s mother’s hands. “When did Josie arrive?”
“On Tuesday. Three days ago. Your friend Mrs. Kahn brought her. She—she told me you sacrificed your seat in the lifeboat for her. That was so selfless.” Her eyes reddened.
“She’s a widow, expecting a baby.”
Mrs. Aubrey gulped and pulled a handkerchief from her pocket. “Oh dear. Excuse me.”
“How’s Josie? Is she all right?” Lucie searched the doorway for her.
“As well as can be expected.” She dabbed at her eyes. “She’s been through so much, and she keeps asking for you. But may I ask ... oh, how do I say this? Josie calls you mama. Are you ...?”
“Married to Paul? No, but we—we’re in love.” She ached for him more than ever in this home where he’d grown up. “The resistance insisted on sending Paul in a separate escape line. It was safer if Josie and I were seen as mother and child.”
