The Book of Lost Names(59)

The children had all glanced at Eva with mild interest when they descended from the ceiling, but they were all absorbed in their own activities now and were paying her no mind. The two boys were playing chess in the corner; the teenager was scribbling furiously in a notebook, and the younger girl had curled up in the corner of the sofa to read a book. Eva’s gaze rested on her. “They’re all Jewish refugees?”

Madame Travere looked away, but Père Clément nodded. “Yes. From the north.”

“And what will happen to them when they get to Switzerland?”

“They’re adopted,” Madame Travere said, her tone clipped. “Temporarily. Until they can be reunited with their parents.”

Eva thought of her own father and blinked back tears. “And if a reunion never comes?”

“There are provisions for that, too,” Père Clément said. “Some will come back to France, some will stay with their new families. We will make sure all of them are cared for, though. It is the most important thing we do.” He paused and added, “And you, my dear, are a big part of that.”

“Now,” Madame Travere said, clapping her hands once, “you’ve seen what there is to see. Shall we go?”

She began to walk away, but the little girl with the pigtails had looked up and locked eyes with Eva, and Eva felt herself drawn to the child. She moved across the room, ignoring Madame Travere, who was muttering something about interaction with the children being highly unusual.

“What’s your name, dear?” Eva asked, bending beside the girl who still held the book open in her lap.

The little girl blinked at her. “Anne.” From the way she said it, her eyes sliding away, Eva knew it was not the name she’d been born with, but rather a new identity someone had given her to get her here safely.

“It’s nice to meet you, Anne. My name is Mademoiselle Moreau.”

Anne studied her. “That is not your real name, though, is it, mademoiselle?”

Eva shook her head, feeling a surge of guilt. How could she lie to a child? But it was more dangerous to tell the truth. “No. It’s not.”

One day, when Eva had to produce false papers for the girl, she would learn who she really was. She wondered where she had come from, where she would go from here. She seemed so young to have her whole life ripped from her. “How old are you, Anne?” she asked.

“Six and a half. Nearly seven.”

“And what are you reading?”

The girl glanced down at the book in her hands. “Le Magicien d’Oz. Do you know it? It’s about a girl named Dorothée, who is carried into a strange land called Oz, where she meets a scarecrow, a tin woodman, and a cowardly lion.”

Eva smiled. “I’ve read it. But isn’t it quite a difficult book for someone so young?”

The little girl shrugged. “I know most of the words, and Madame Travere has given me a dictionary for the ones I do not. Besides, I think it doesn’t matter, as long as you can understand the characters.”

“It is rather fun to read about such fantastical creatures.”

“I suppose, but that’s not what I meant. I meant that in a way, I’m like Dorothée, aren’t I? I’m on a great adventure, and one day, I’ll find my way home.”

Eva had to swallow the lump in her throat before replying. “I think that’s a very good point.”

The little girl searched Eva’s eyes. “Do you know how it ends? Dorothée does get to go home, doesn’t she?”

“Yes. Yes, she does.”

“And her family is there waiting for her?”

Eva could only manage to nod.

“Good,” Anne said. “One day, the yellow brick road will lead me home, too. I know it.”

Père Clément appeared at Eva’s side then, and he put an arm around her. “Eva, we really must be going. But I see you’ve met our resident book lover.”

Anne smiled up at the priest. “Mademoiselle Moreau has read Le Magicien d’Oz, too, Père Clément!”

“Well, Anne, would you believe that Mademoiselle Moreau once worked in a very large library full of books? I believe she loves reading just as much as you do.”

Anne looked back at Eva, her eyes wide. “One day, I hope to work in a library, too. Do you think it’s possible?”

“Of course,” Eva replied, her voice choked. “Libraries are very magical places.”

Anne nodded solemnly and then returned her attention to the pages, already lost in the land of Oz once again. Eva watched her for a few seconds before Père Clément led her gently away.

Night had already begun to fall by the time Madame Travere shut the door firmly behind them and Eva and Père Clément began to walk away from the children’s home, back toward the church. Snowflakes drifted down in silence, clinging to the eaves.

“Thank you, Père Clément,” Eva said softly as they turned a corner.

“There are another sixteen houses in town, and seven farmhouses in the countryside, that are hiding children similarly. Madame Travere has been providing shelter longer than anyone else in town. She was the first to step up when children began arriving from Paris.”

The four children Eva had seen today were only a minuscule fraction of the orphans whose parents had been stolen. What would become of them? Would their lives ever be normal again? Was it possible to rebuild when you’d been left with nothing? “How will we save them all?” she finally asked in a whisper.