The Book of Lost Names(41)

He looked confused. “Their real names?”

“So that they may be reunited with their parents after the war.”

“Oh, Eva, you must understand that their parents may not survive the war.”

“I know.” She shook off thoughts of her own father as her mother’s words replayed in her head. Who will remember us? Who will care? “But there must be a way, Père Clément. What if the youngest ones can’t recall where they come from by the time the war ends?”

“It’s too dangerous to send them across the border with anything bearing their true identities, Eva.” There was pity in his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Could you—could you find out their names for me anyhow?”

“What good would it do, Eva?” Père Clément’s tone was gentle.

“I would know who they are,” she said softly. “Please. It—it’s very important to me that they are not forgotten.”

He studied her for a moment. “I will see what I can do. And Eva?”

“Yes, Père Clément?”

“Thank you. I think perhaps Madame Noirot was right in thinking that God sent you here.”



* * *



That evening, as the light faded from the stained glass windows above the shelves of the small library, Eva was just finishing stamping a batch of documents when Rémy reappeared. Her shoulders were stiff from hunching over the desk, and her fingers ached from meticulously tracing stamps, filling in blanks, and signing papers. Her eyes were dry, her throat raw. She hadn’t paused even for a sip of water since she and Père Clément returned to the church that morning.

It had taken her an hour to study and test out the rudimentary device, which she had never used before, and another to trace the first seal she would need. Once it was embossed in the gel, though, she’d been able to imprint the false stamp on twenty-one blank birth certificates in quick succession. The second stamp had taken less time, and then it had just been a matter of giving the children new names and birth dates, and signing the documents in an illegible scrawl. As she’d worked, her mind had wandered to the fate of the children’s parents—and to her own father. How many of them were already doomed? She’d had to pause a few times to wipe away tears before they smeared the ink on the new papers.

“Well?” Rémy asked as he walked into the library, carrying a small bundle that smelled delicious. “I’ve brought you a bit of cheese and a potato. Have you finished some of the documents?” He set down the bundle, and Eva’s stomach rumbled.

Eva bit back a smile. “Oh, a few.”

“Out with it, then. How many?”

Eva held up the stack of documents. “Twenty-one and counting.”

Rémy stared first at her, then at the papers in her hands. “In a day’s time? But that’s impossible.”

“See for yourself.” She handed him the stack and dug into the food, moaning as she bit into the potato, still hot from the oven.

Rémy ignored her as he flipped through the papers, examining the first few in wide-eyed detail and then shuffling hurriedly through the rest.

“But…” He looked up, his voice trailing off. “They’re perfect. How did you do these so quickly?”

She was already bundling up the remainder of the cheese and half her potato; she would take them to her mother. “I’m sure I don’t know. I’m just qualified to be your lowly assistant, yes?”

This time, she couldn’t hide her smile as she stood, gathered her sweater, and headed for the door. She was halfway across the dark church when she heard footsteps behind her. Rémy appeared at her side and put a hand on her arm. “Wait,” he said.

She turned.

“I’m—I’m sorry I said that. You’re—you’re clearly quite good at this, especially considering your lack of training.”

“Well, you went all the way to Paris for me, didn’t you? Perhaps we can call it even.”

“Will you show me how to do it?” He lowered his voice. “If we can work together…”

“Of course.” She hesitated. “On one condition.”

“All right…”

“I want to keep a list of the children we are falsifying documents for. They belong to someone, all of them.”

“Surely Père Clément has told you how dangerous it would be to record any of their real names.”

“Then help me to find a way to make sure it’s not,” she said, catching his gaze and holding it. “We owe it to them. We owe it to their parents. Please.”

“Why does it matter so much to you?”

Eva looked away and thought again of her mother’s despair. They are erasing us, and we are helping them. “Because someone should remember. How else will they find their way home?”

Rémy opened his mouth and then closed it again. “I can’t promise anything. But I will think about it.”

“Thank you.” She smiled at him. “And thank you for the food. Would you see to it that Père Clément receives the documents?” As she walked away, she could feel his eyes following her until she slipped into the quiet twilight.