The Book of Lost Names(24)

“This wouldn’t just be about Tatu?, I think. Père Clément will expect something in return.”

“So you will help him forge a few other documents,” Mamusia said after a pause. “How long will that take? A day? Two? After that, we must go. We’ll all leave for Switzerland together.”

Eva nodded, but she wasn’t sure it would be that easy.

At just past seven, there was a knock on their door, and when Eva cautiously answered, she found Madame Barbier standing there.

“I have dinner for you in the dining room,” the older woman announced.

“You must know we don’t have ration cards,” Eva replied.

“In Aurignon, we look out for each other.”

Eva took a deep breath. “Is that what you were doing when you told Père Clément about us?”

Madame Barbier looked away. “I was saving your life, mademoiselle, and that of your mother. Your papers were good, but you hadn’t thought the whole thing through. You still haven’t.” She turned away before Eva could say another word.

When Eva and her mother sat down alone in the dining room a few minutes later, there was a veritable feast waiting for them. In the middle of a table set for three sat a roasted chicken on a bed of spring onions, and beside it a bowl of shimmering, crisp roasted potatoes, a bottle of red wine, and a carafe of water. Eva and her mother exchanged uncertain looks. It seemed too good to be true; Eva hadn’t seen such a spread since before the war. Glancing around, Mamusia hastily whispered the Jewish blessing for bread, the hamotzi, followed by the blessing for wine, just as Madame Barbier strode into the room.

“I hope you won’t mind if I join you,” Madame Barbier said, settling into a chair before waiting for a reply. “There’s a farmer on the edge of town whom I’ve done a favor for. In exchange, he provides me with some food on occasion. But I cannot eat all of this alone.”

“Why are you helping us?” Eva asked as Madame Barbier sliced the chicken. Steam rose from the bird and Eva closed her eyes for a second, sighing in delight at the smell.

“Because you have been through a great deal.” Madame Barbier placed a thick piece of chicken breast on Mamusia’s plate and a crisp leg on Eva’s. “And because I hope you will decide to stay in Aurignon for some time. The room here is yours as long as you want it. I’m told that Père Clément will be able to offer you a small salary, which will be more than enough to cover your lodging.”

“Thank you,” Mamusia said, smoothing a napkin over her lap, “but we won’t be here for very long.”

“I see.” Madame Barbier didn’t look at either of them as she heaped potatoes and greens onto their plates and her own. She poured a small glass of wine for each of them. “I was under the impression that your daughter had spoken with Père Clément.”

Eva felt torn as Madame Barbier murmured a short prayer under her breath, crossed herself, and then cut into her own chicken leg. “We haven’t made any decisions yet.”

Mamusia gave her a sharp look. “Certainly, we have. You’ll retrieve your father, and then we’ll depart.”

Madame Barbier turned to Eva, her eyes bright. “You feel this way, too? You would abandon us so soon after we help you?”

Eva’s appetite was suddenly gone. “I—I don’t know.”

“But your father…” Mamusia said, her voice rising an octave.

Across the table, Madame Barbier cleared her throat. “Père Clément is a good man, madame. You can trust him. He’s doing good work.”

Mamusia glared at Madame Barbier. “I’m sure he is, but he has nothing to do with us.”

“Au contraire. I believe he has everything to do with you if you hope to see your husband again,” Madame Barbier replied evenly.

Mamusia snorted and pushed her chair back from the table. For a second, Eva was certain that her mother was about to storm off in righteous anger, but she seemed to reconsider, perhaps lured by the full plate of food in front of her. Instead, she scooted her chair back in, muttering angrily to herself, as Madame Barbier cut her own chicken, a pleasantly blank expression on her face.

“So, er, you live here alone?” Eva asked when the silence had grown uncomfortable.

“Yes, dear,” the older woman replied. “My husband and I managed the boardinghouse together during happier times. Aurignon used to be a somewhat popular holiday destination for people who lived in Lyon, Dijon, even Paris, people who wanted to escape to the countryside during the summer. Then my husband died in ’thirty-nine, and war came.”

“I’m sorry to hear about your husband,” Mamusia said, finally looking up.

“And I’m sorry to hear about yours, but at least you still have hope. And you still have your daughter.” Madame Barbier nodded at Eva. “My son went to fight for France just after his father passed. He did not return.”

“I’m quite sorry to hear that, too,” Mamusia said, glancing at Eva, who added murmured condolences.

Madame Barbier accepted the words with a brisk nod. “Well, as you can imagine, I don’t have much fondness for the Germans, even if Pétain wishes to lick their bootstraps, the old fool. My France is the one my husband fought for in the Great War, and the one my son gave his life for.” Suddenly, her eyes were on Eva, and they were on fire. “It is the France I hope you will choose to fight for, too, mademoiselle. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’m finished.” She stood abruptly, pushing her chair back from the table and whisking her plate away, but not before Eva saw a tear glide down her cheek.