The Book of Lost Names(67)

“Eva, they’re undoubtedly torturing him. You never know what someone will do under that kind of duress.”

She felt ill. “But I know him.”

“Eva.” He waited until she looked at him. “It’s impossible to ever really know anyone. Can you even say you know yourself?”

She held his gaze. “Of course.”

He gave her a sad smile. “Can you really, though? After all, you’re not the same girl you were in Paris, are you? People change, Eva.” He stood. “I’m sure you’re right about Rémy, but better safe than sorry.”

He left before she could protest further, and after he was gone, she felt like a traitor for not defending Rémy more strongly.

She was still sitting in the pew a half hour later, her whole body numb, when Père Clément entered through the back of the church and sat beside her. “You spoke with Faucon?”

She nodded, and when she turned to look at the priest, she was surprised to find tears falling from her eyes again. “Rémy would never betray us, Père Clément.”

“I think you’re right, Eva—but Faucon is right, too. You and Geneviève should leave immediately and stay away for a few days, just in case.” His eyes were full of sympathy.

“I can’t,” she said after a long pause, and he nodded, like he’d already known this. “I have to find a way to save him. If it was the papers we made together that got him into trouble, I owe it to him to get him out of it.”

“Eva, none of this is your fault.”

“I know.” And she did. But if there was a way to get Rémy out of Nazi hands, she would find it. “I’ll go talk to Geneviève and tell her to leave for a while. You, too, Father. You should be careful.”

Père Clément shook his head. “This is my home, Eva.” He gestured to the silent Jesus on the cross and smiled. “I’m with him, no matter what happens.”

Eva nodded. She understood this, too. When you loved someone, you didn’t abandon him. That meant more now than ever before.





Chapter Twenty-One




When Eva returned to the secret library, Geneviève was hunched over the table, working on a replacement identity for a young Resistance fighter.

“Geneviève,” Eva said softly, and the other woman looked up with a smile that fell from her face as soon as she saw Eva’s grave expression.

“What is it?”

“You need to go now.”

“Pardon?”

“There’s—there’s a possibility we’ll be compromised. Faucon wants us to stay away for a few days, until we can be sure we’re safe.”

Geneviève looked confused. “But there’s too much to do, and another batch of children due to leave early next week.”

“I can do it myself. I don’t want you in danger.”

“What has happened?” she asked, her tone softening as she studied Eva’s face.

Eva hung her head. “Rémy, the man who was here before you—he was arrested.”

Geneviève didn’t say anything, and Eva didn’t hear her get up, but all of a sudden, her arms were around Eva as she pulled her toward her in a tight hug. Startled, Eva stiffened before hugging back, then she pulled away and wiped her tears.

“He means a lot to you,” Geneviève said.

“Yes.” It was all Eva could manage.

“How did he—?”

As Eva briefly recounted the story about Rémy’s papers not matching up to official records, something in Geneviève’s expression shifted. “What is it?” Eva asked, stopping in midsentence. “Do you think they’ve already killed him?”

“No, no, not that,” Geneviève said, and that’s when Eva noticed that the other woman’s eyes were sparkling with something that looked like hope. “You say his identity came from the Journal Officiel? And you two chose a French farmer a gendarme happened to know?”

Eva nodded miserably.

“But what if we come up with a way to explain why he had the young man’s identity? What if we make him a naturalized citizen from a country that is allied with Germany, and he could sheepishly explain that he was carrying false identity cards because he was afraid his French neighbors would reject him if they knew? At worst, he might have to serve a week or two in jail for presenting false papers, but they would discard him as an idiot, not execute him as a traitor—especially if he’s an ally of Germany. We would just need to find a record of someone naturalized many years ago, as a child, to explain Rémy’s lack of an accent.”

Eva’s heart began to thud. “They would demand to know where he got the false papers.”

“So he’ll give him the name of a forger in Paris who has already been executed. Laurent Boulanger, for instance. Or Marius Augustin.”

Eva stared at her. “Do you think it could work?”

“If we can find the right identity, one that matches up with everything and is entirely ironclad.” Geneviève was already moving toward the door. “Look, why don’t you leave it to me to find exactly the right name, and you can get started on the documents in the queue. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”