“Anson. My name is Anson William Purcell. Now you.”
“I’m Soline Roussel.”
“Pleased to meet you, Soline Roussel.” He holds out a hand. I take it, briefly startled by the warmth of his fingers. “So how are things? Easier now that you’ve found your footing?”
“A little, yes. One of the other volunteers has taken me under her wing. She knew my mother before she passed away and has been very kind.”
His grin disappears, his face softening. “I’m sorry about your mother. When did she die?”
“Three months ago now, I think. I’m losing track of the days. We had a small bridal salon in the Rue Legendre, but she got sick and the boche came. I thought since I had nursed her, I would be prepared. But that first day, seeing those poor boys . . . I wasn’t ready.”
“Of course you weren’t, but you stayed anyway. That was brave.”
I peer at the red-and-green American Field Service patch on his sleeve. I’ve heard stories about the American drivers, how many of them had joined up before the United States even entered the war and had come over at their own expense, earning them the nickname the Gentlemen Volunteers.
“There’s a lot of talk about the drivers. They say you volunteer to come and that you actually pay your own way. Is it true?”
He makes a face. “It’s not as big a deal as it sounds. Most of us are rich boys from Princeton and Yale, looking for adventure.”
“Which are you?”
“Yale. Like my old man and his old man. Or was.”
“You left university to do this? Why?”
He shrugs, but there’s something evasive about the gesture, as if the subject makes him uncomfortable. “I wanted to do my part. And I liked the AFS’s motto—that freedom and mercy shall not perish from this earth.” Another shrug. “Anyway, here I am.”
“Your family must be proud.”
“My mother’s been gone almost three years, so it’s just my sister and my father now. And proud isn’t exactly the word I’d use. The Purcells have always been navy men, and I was expected to fall in line. My father was set to pull the required strings to get me into Officer Candidate School when I graduated, but I didn’t want that. Any more than I wanted to get roped into the family business. Needless to say, he was pretty steamed when I told him I’d quit school to sign up.”
I survey the damage to his face. We’ve all heard stories of AFS drivers killed in the line of duty or detained and questioned by the Gestapo for aiding escaped prisoners. “Perhaps he’s just concerned for your safety and thinks you’d be safer as an officer in the American navy.”
The corners of his mouth twitch with something like a grimace. “No, I’ve just spoiled his plans.”
“Are you . . . being careful?”
He tips his head to one side, studying me in return. “Does it matter to you that I’m careful?”
My cheeks go hot. He’s nothing to me and isn’t likely to be, but I tell myself it’s a perfectly valid question. “I think it must matter to your father and sister.”
His smile slips, replaced by something flinty and unreadable. “There isn’t time to be careful. You do what you’re sent to do. If you’re lucky, you get back in one piece so you can do it all over again the next day.”
“How do you do it? Aren’t you afraid?”
“Every single day.”
“But you do it anyway.”
“Same as you.”
I shake my head, unwilling to concede that his work and mine are in any way similar. “You save lives. I change sheets and write letters.”
“Don’t think for a minute that writing a letter to a soldier’s mother or sweetheart isn’t saving his life. It’s a lifeline, a reason to keep going.” He pauses, running a hand through his thatch of blond hair. His expression is deadly earnest. “We’re all doing what we can, Soline, and we’re all scared silly. But we show up every day, because it’s important stuff. All of it—all of us—important.”
I’m trying to think of something to say when I hear my name. I turn to find Adeline standing in the doorway, pointing to her wristwatch. I throw her a nod and stand. “I have to go.”
Anson pushes to his feet, catching my hand. “I’ll miss you, Soline Roussel.”
His voice, low and warm, makes my pulse quicken. “Don’t be silly. You can’t miss someone you don’t know.”