The Book of Lost Names(61)

Eva looked down. There were four names, all of which had become familiar to her in the past few months. She stopped, trembling, when she reached the last: little Anne. “I thought the couriers were planning to wait for warmer weather,” she said softly, looking up.

“We’ve received word that the Germans are about to raid Madame Travere’s home, possibly as soon as tomorrow. They suspect there are Jewish children being hidden there.”

Eva felt as if her blood had turned to ice. “But how? Who could have told them?”

Père Clément’s mouth was a thin line. “It could have been anyone: a jealous neighbor, a nosy passerby, a policeman looking to curry favor. Though most of the townspeople here hate the Occupation, there are a handful who look at it as an opportunity to profit.”

“How could they betray children, though?” Eva could feel her temper rising. “And what do the Germans want with them anyhow? What harm could they do?”

Père Clément sighed. “It seems that’s not the point.”

“Can I at least go say goodbye?”

“I’m afraid not. If the Germans are watching the house, we can’t afford to have you associated with it right now. Besides, I think you will have much to do tonight if the papers need to be ready before dawn. Would you like me to tell your mother not to expect you home this evening?”

Eva nodded slowly and ran her finger over Anne’s familiar assumed name, along with a false birthdate that made her five and a half instead of six. “Who is she really?”

Père Clément dug into his pocket and emerged with a second list, which he handed to her. This had become their norm; she would record the names of the children, their real names, and then burn the slips of paper. The real names were kept separate from the false ones, just in case anyone discovered the papers before they could be destroyed. “She is the first one.”

Eva looked down. “Frania Kor,” she read aloud. She looked up at Père Clément, her vision blurred by tears. “Her name is Polish. Do you know what it means?”

“No.”

“Frania means from France, or free.” Eva swallowed the lump in her throat. “She was probably born in France, like I was, and her parents thought that alone would keep her safe, give her a better life.”

“But we can do it, Eva,” Père Clément said. “We can do it for them, keep her safe, make sure there’s a future for her after all.” He hesitated. “I shouldn’t have let you get so attached to her.”

Eva wiped away a tear. “No, I’m glad you did. It has helped to remind me who I’m doing this work for.” Besides, there was nothing Père Clément could have done to stop it. From the moment Eva first laid eyes on the little girl, she had recognized a kindred spirit, another dreamer who lost and found herself in books.

“But no good comes of giving away pieces of our heart in the midst of a war.” Père Clément waited until she looked up and met his eye. “It’s dangerous, Eva.”

Eva knew then that he wasn’t just talking about the children. She thought of Rémy, whom she’d been seeing less of lately as he became more involved in running errands for the underground. “It’s more dangerous not to, I think.” With a sigh, she turned to the bookshelf behind her to reach for the Book of Lost Names.

“I’ll summon Rémy,” Père Clément said. “You’ll need his help to get through all the documents in time.”

“Thank you,” Eva said, and as Père Clément left, locking the door behind him, she turned to the book and opened it to page 147. On the second line, she drew a tiny black star over the F in Fils, a dot over the r in parconséquent. Here, at least, a little girl named Frania Kor would still exist, even though the world would try to erase her. If she made it to Oz, she would one day need to find her way home.



* * *



Eva had already made it through the first two sets of documents by the time Rémy swept in an hour later, his black overcoat still dusted with snow, a bag slung over his shoulder. He set the bag down in the corner and removed his cap, kneading it nervously. “How are the papers coming?”

Eva sighed. “It’s going to be a long night.”

“Right. Well, how can I help?”

Eva pointed to the name of the boy she’d watched play checkers a dozen times, a ten-year-old whom she’d heard called Octave. His name, she knew now, was really Johann, which made her think his parents had come from Germany or Austria, but it was impossible to know. He was one of the older ones, someone who had a chance of carrying the secrets of his past with him, but Eva added him to the book anyhow, as she did with all the children. If he was captured or killed in the process of fleeing, at least there would be a record of his name. If a family member came looking for him one day, she’d be able to tell them at least part of what had happened, that for a time he had been embraced by a small town in the mountains.

“You’ve been gone a lot lately,” Eva said mildly as Rémy began carefully filling in the false details on one of the certificates Joseph had delivered in November. The blanks were nearly gone now, and Eva knew she would need to seek him out soon to ask for more.

He looked away. “There are men assembling in the woods,” he said slowly. “Training. Preparing.”