“How very kind.” As Ruby sat down, Monsieur Dacher began to pour. The heavenly aroma of coffee, so familiar yet so foreign these days, seemed to wrap the room in warmth.

Madame Dacher emerged from the kitchen a moment later with chocolates and a small bowl of sugar. “Charlotte, dear, go get ready for bed.”

“But I’d like some coffee too! And I’d like to visit with Madame Benoit.”

“We need to have a grown-up conversation,” Madame Dacher said firmly. “Please, my dear. You can visit with her tomorrow.”

“I’m not a child anymore, you know.” But Charlotte said a terse good night to Ruby and her parents and headed toward the back of the apartment.

“There is a favor we would like to ask you,” Monsieur Dacher said after all three of them had taken a first sip of coffee and delighted in how wonderful it tasted.

“Yes, anything.”

“After this summer, we think that perhaps Charlotte will not return to school. There are—” Monsieur Dacher paused and began again. “There are circumstances that make it difficult now.”

“I’m very sorry,” Ruby said. The words were woefully inadequate.

“We are sorry too.” Madame Dacher took over, glancing at her husband. “This is not the France we knew.”

Ruby nodded, and the three of them shared a moment of silent understanding before Madame Dacher went on. “I will take over her schooling here at home. But we would like for her to learn English, and we were wondering whether we might impose upon you to help.”

“Of course!” Ruby responded immediately. Not only did she owe the Dachers a debt, but she would actually enjoy the opportunity to spend more time with the girl.

“We feel that it will be an important language for her to know in the future,” Madame Dacher continued.

“Britain will help us win this war,” Monsieur Dacher added. “And we would like to know that Charlotte’s future might include working with them.”

“Also,” Madame Dacher said, locking eyes with her husband, “we do not know what this war will bring for Jews. There are terrible rumors of things happening in the east.”

The Dachers exchanged looks. “As you may know, Sarah is from Poland,” Monsieur Dacher said. “She came to France as a small child with her parents, but she still has many family members who, until recently, were living near Krakow. We do not know what has become of them. As for me, my father is French, but my mother is from Poland too, and in fact, I was born there when she was on a journey to visit her parents.”

“I assumed you were both born in France.”

Monsieur Dacher shook his head. “Some of the reports from Poland in the last months . . .” He trailed off.

“The Germans are sending Jews to work camps,” Madame Dacher said bluntly, her gaze far away. “And there are rumors that some of them are dying.”

“But you see, it’s impossible to know the truth, because things are often greatly exaggerated,” Monsieur Dacher said quickly. “In any case, we feel strongly that such a thing would never happen here. The French will not turn on their own. We must endure the restrictions that have been placed upon us, but we will survive this.”

“Still, we feel that Charlotte knowing English will give her an advantage, whatever the future should bring,” Madame Dacher said. When she looked up, Ruby could see in her eyes that she didn’t share her husband’s optimism.

The coffee on the table between them was going cold, but Ruby was no longer thinking of what a rare treat it was. What must it be like to fear for your child’s future this way? She had been powerless to protect her own child, but she could be there for Charlotte if it came to that. And that was something.

There were a thousand things Ruby wanted to say, a hundred promises she wanted to make. But the Dachers were proud, and Ruby knew they weren’t looking for platitudes. They were looking for hope. “It would be my pleasure to help Charlotte learn English,” she said. “When shall we begin?”

BY MID-AUGUST, THE HEAT WAS sweltering, and the air in Paris seemed strangely still, as if the city itself was holding its breath. Ruby had been working with Charlotte for three weeks, meeting with her every Thursday afternoon. Ruby had never taught a language before, but she had begun to study French when she was just a bit younger than Charlotte was now, so she tried to remember how she had learned. Small words first, the kind you’d teach a young child, followed by pronouns and basic verb conjugations. English seemed more difficult than French, for it drew from so many different languages, but Ruby found Charlotte an apt pupil.

“Do you miss Monsieur Benoit?” Charlotte asked late one afternoon as their lesson was concluding. Ruby had taught her the numbers that day, all the way up to one hundred, and Charlotte had managed to conjugate a few simple verbs.

“Miss him?” Ruby was puzzled. “He hasn’t gone anywhere.”

Charlotte shrugged. “I only mean that he’s often away. I wonder if it’s hard for you being alone.”

Ruby took a deep breath. Charlotte didn’t miss a thing. “In truth, I think it is easier to be by myself than to be with someone who doesn’t seem to trust me.”

She worried that it was the wrong thing to say to a child, but Charlotte nodded in immediate understanding. “You wish he would not keep secrets from you.”

Ruby blinked. “Yes.”

“I wish that too.”

Later, after Charlotte had gone, Ruby was left wondering what the girl had meant. How had she guessed that Marcel was keeping secrets?

Marcel surprised Ruby by arriving home at six that evening, toting a fresh chicken wrapped in newspaper. “I’ve brought dinner,” he said.

“But where did you get it?” Certainly this wasn’t the sort of thing that was easy to come by anymore. Her mouth watered, but she could also feel her stomach twisting with concern.

He frowned. “Does it matter? I’ve done nothing wrong, if that’s what you’re suggesting. I had hoped you would be as excited as I am about the prospect of a good meal.”

“I’m sorry.”

Marcel studied her for a minute, then seemed to deflate. “No, I suppose I don’t blame you.”

He walked into the bedroom without another word, and Ruby began to prepare the chicken to roast. She would use the carcass for broth later and would share some soup with the Dachers.

She had just slid the chicken into the oven when Marcel reappeared in the kitchen, his tie gone and his shirt loosened at the collar. He looked more relaxed than she’d seen him in months. Handsome, even. “It smells wonderful in here,” he said.

“Thank you for bringing the chicken.” She felt oddly formal with him, like he was a guest in her home.

“Thank you for cooking it.” He was being just as proper with her. They had become strangers. “You’ve been well?”

She nodded and moved across the kitchen to uncork one of the two dozen remaining bottles of wine they had. Marcel had kept a small collection before the war. She poured a glass for him and one for her, and they toasted. “To peace,” she said.

“To victory.” His reply was immediate. “Peace without victory means nothing.”

She nodded and turned away, sure he was scolding her.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean that as a criticism. I—Sometimes things come out wrong.”

“It’s all right.” She was surprised to realize she meant it.

“And I’m sorry, too, about the baby, Ruby. I really am.” The words hung between them, and he waited until she looked up before continuing. “I feel very sorry that he died. You needed me, and I wasn’t there for you. I haven’t been there for you much at all, in fact. But things will be different soon. I promise.”

“Does that mean you’ll be able to tell me what’s going on? Maybe let me help?”

His smile faded. “We’ve discussed this, Ruby. It would put you in danger.” He raised his glass again. “But I want to become once again the man you married. I will, Ruby. I will.”

They toasted, looking into each other’s eyes. And for a long time afterward, as she sipped her wine, Ruby could see the hazy possibility of a different future.

MARCEL LEFT AFTER DINNER, THANKING Ruby politely for the meal and promising to be back soon.