The Book of Lost Names(43)

“I’m very sorry,” Eva mumbled to Madame Barbier as she started after her mother.

Madame Barbier stepped in front of her, blocking Eva’s path. “Let her go,” she said. “You, dear, are trying to find your way forward, but your mother, she can only look back right now. She’s in too much pain to see anything other than what she has lost.”

“But—”

“Give her time,” Madame Barbier said, her tone as soothing as a lullaby. “I will do what I can to help. In the meantime, you need to get some rest.”

Finally, Eva nodded and turned back into the room. Her whole body ached, and her head throbbed from exhaustion, but she already knew she wouldn’t sleep until her mother returned.





Chapter Fourteen




Mamusia let herself into the room at just past four in the morning, sliding into bed, and Eva finally allowed herself to drift off, comforted by the warmth of her mother’s body.

When Eva awoke a few hours later, the sun was reaching filament fingers into the room along the edges of the blackout curtains. Eva turned to look at her mother, sleeping peacefully beside her, and she felt a surge of sadness. The fight had gone out of Mamusia, and without it, she looked like a little girl. Then again, perhaps in a way she still was. Mamusia had been only eighteen when she married Tatu?. Without her husband beside her, she didn’t know who she was as an adult. Eva dressed in silence and left without waking her.

“Will you look after her today?” she asked Madame Barbier as she passed the older woman in the hall on the way out.

“That depends. Are you going to see Père Clément?”

Eva hesitated and nodded.

“Good. Then I will care for her,” she confirmed. “Wait here for a moment.” When she returned, she was carrying an apple and a wedge of cheese. Eva held up a hand to refuse, but her growling stomach gave her away, and Madame Barbier insisted with a smile. “I will save some for your mother, too. You will both need your strength.”

The streets of Aurignon were quiet as Eva hurried toward the église Saint-Alban a few moments later, clutching the food. But it wasn’t a peaceful silence; the clean air was still, as if the sky was holding its breath, and there was no birdsong. Behind the church, the squat mountains in the distance looked ominous today as they cast their scattered shadows over the town.

Père Clément was sweeping the aisle, and he looked up when Eva entered. “Is your mother all right, Eva? I saw her in the town square last night. You should remind her that it’s dangerous to be out after sundown. It’s a small town, and in small towns, people talk.”

“I’ll tell her. And I think she’s okay.” She hesitated and added, “Just broken, I suppose.”

“We all are.” He smiled at her sadly. “Eva, Rémy brought me the documents last night. The work you did was incredible.”

She ducked her head so he wouldn’t see her blush. “Thank you. Will it help?”

“It already has. I’ve brought you more supplies. And as long as you’re willing to stay, well, we would be very grateful for your assistance.” He handed her a key. “Here. This will let you into the library. Aside from me, you and Rémy are the only ones who have these.”

He walked away before she could reply. She allowed herself a small smile before heading to the tiny library.

When she let herself in, she was surprised to find Rémy already sitting at the table, hunched over something. He looked up with a smile as she pulled the door closed behind her.

“I brought an apple and some cheese if you’d like to share,” she said, pulling the food from the pocket of her skirt and holding it out, a peace offering.

He eyed the small meal. “You don’t need to give me any.”

“I know I don’t,” she said. But she handed him the cheese anyhow and waited until he’d taken a small bite.

“Thank you.” He passed the cheese back and waved away the apple. “As it turns out, I have something for you, too.” He held up the book she’d grabbed in a panic the first night she met him, Epitres et Evangiles, the thick, faded guide to weekly masses from the 1700s.

She frowned as she took the book from him. “Are you poking fun at me?”

He laughed. “No, quite the opposite. Please, turn to page one.”

She looked at him uncertainly. He laughed again and gestured to the book. “Go on.”

Slowly she cracked it open and turned to the first page, which featured only the title of the book, a subtitle, the publisher name, and the year of publication. She gave him a look. “But what…”

“No, no, keep going. Numerical page one.” The old paper crackled in protest as she leafed through the first eighty or so pages, marked with roman numerals, and found numerical page one. There was a tiny black star drawn over the e in Le, followed by a dot over the v in l’Avent on the same line.

Eva looked up in confusion. “You’re defacing old books now?”

Rémy laughed. “For a good cause, I think. Keep going. Page two.”

On the second page was a dot over the a in car, and on the third, a dot over the t in perfécuteurs, but nothing had been added to page four. On page five, there was a dot over the r in alors, but on page six, there were no marks. “I don’t understand,” she said, setting the book down.