The Book of Lost Names(69)

“But—”

“He’s all right, Eva, but he’s needed farther to the north. I’m not sure why Gaudibert and Faucon had rearranged things so Rémy would be traveling so frequently across the border, but the underground needs him for his explosives expertise. He won’t be making any more trips as a courier, though, now that he’s on the authorities’ radar. He is, as they say, grillé.”

“Did they… hurt him?”

“They roughed him up a bit, but that was it. Apparently they thought he was just smuggling black market cigarettes for profit. No idea that he was working against them. Their misunderstanding likely saved his life.”

Eva exhaled. “And he’s safe?”

“For now. But what he’s doing is dangerous. If the Germans catch him sabotaging them, he’ll be executed immediately. Eva, you have to understand that the odds aren’t in his favor.”

“They aren’t in mine, either. Yet I’m still here.”

He gave her a small smile. “I suppose all we can do now is to pray for him—and to do our best here to support the work, as we always do.”

“Père Clément?” Eva asked after a moment. “Did he ask about me?”

“Of course he did.”

“And?”

Père Clément held her gaze. “He wanted to make sure you were all right, that you were safe.”

“That was all? There was no message?”

“I’m afraid not, Eva.”

It wasn’t until Père Clément left that she allowed the tears to come. She tried to push them away, to tell herself that certainly today’s news had been good: Rémy was alive. He was mostly unharmed, and he wouldn’t be making any more border crossings.

But he wouldn’t be coming back to her. And now she’d have no way of knowing whether he was safe. At least the false papers for Andras Konig would give him an extra layer of protection, but she knew they’d be worthless if he was caught doing something criminal—or if something went wrong and he blew himself up. Père Clément was right, all she could do was pray.

And so she turned to the stack of Journal Officiel newspapers and began to flip through, looking for identities she could steal for others like Rémy who were standing on the front lines of a battle the Germans wouldn’t see coming.



* * *



In the next week, Eva went to the boardinghouse to sleep beside her mother only three times; the other nights, she spent holed up in the church, poring over the gazettes, forging papers, and sneaking in a few hours of sleep where she could find them. There were ration cards to be printed, identities to create, children to protect, Resistance fighters to hide. The work never seemed to let up, and to her credit, though she left before sundown, Geneviève worked as hard as Eva did during the day and brought a certain lightness to the somber library.

On the Thursday night after Père Clément returned with the news about Rémy, Eva finally allowed herself to leave early. She found her mother sitting at the window in the parlor, gazing out with a blank expression.

“Mamusia, are you all right?” she asked, bending beside her.

Her mother didn’t even turn to look at her. “I’m just wondering where your father is right now.”

Eva squeezed her eyes shut and then opened them again. “Mamusia—” she began gently.

“Do you know what we were doing thirty years ago today?” she interrupted.

“No, Mamusia.”

“We were getting married. He wore a borrowed suit, and I wore white, and I thought all my dreams had come true. We thought we would have such a wonderful life together. A long life. And now, look where we are. He’s somewhere to the east, probably worrying about me, and I’m here, all alone.”

“Oh, Mamusia.” Eva had forgotten the date. “Happy anniversary. I’m so sorry I didn’t say anything. You’re wrong about being alone, though. I’m here.”

“You are in your own world, Eva, and there’s no room for me in it.”

Eva wanted to tell her that there was no room for anyone, but that wouldn’t be true; there had been a space for Rémy, and now that corner stood cold and dark. “Mamusia, I will always be here. I’m sorry I haven’t made you feel that way.”

Mamusia sighed. “An apology won’t return your father to me.” She walked away, and a few seconds later, Eva heard the door to their room slam.

Madame Barbier emerged from the kitchen, drying her hands on a towel. “Everything all right?”

“I—I can’t seem to do anything but let my mother down.”

“Dear, your mother is just exhausted, tired of hoping, tired of waiting.” Madame Barbier crossed the room and put a hand on Eva’s shoulder. “We all are. This war, it has gone on too long. And all she can see is that the people who matter most—you and your father—have been taken from her.”

“Taken? I’m right here.”

“It doesn’t feel that way to her, though that’s not your fault.”

“But she’s my family.”

“And in the midst of a war like this, you realize that family is more than just blood. I’m your family now, and so is Père Clément. So are all the children you’ve helped save, and the men and women who can continue to fight for France because you’ve protected them.”