The Book of Lost Names(70)

“That doesn’t fix things with my mother.”

“One day she will understand that you did what you were born to do.”

Eva looked at her. “With my father gone, though…” She couldn’t complete the sentence.

“Dear girl, don’t you see?” Madame Barbier gave her a small smile. “Without people like you, France will fall to the wolves. The only way to save your mother is to save France. And that is just what you are doing.”

After Madame Barbier returned to the kitchen, Eva knocked on the locked door to the room she shared with her mother, but there was no answer.

“Mamusia, please open up,” Eva called through the wood. “I love you. I’m not trying to hurt you.”

“Go away.” Her mother’s reply was muffled but the words were unmistakable.

“Mamusia…”

“Please, Eva. I just—I want to be alone.”

Eva considered staying, trying to wear her mother down with apologies for any hurt she was causing, but Madame Barbier was right. If France fell, she and her mother would eventually be deported, simply because of the Jewish blood that coursed through their veins. Eva had to stop that from happening, and the only way to do so was to get back to work.

The streets were empty and no one bothered her as she made her way back to the church. Inside the main room, candles burned on the altar, and Eva bent to pray. It no longer mattered to her that the man with the kind, sad eyes hanging on the cross wasn’t supposed to mean anything to her. She knew now that they were all on the same side. She prayed for her mother and father; she prayed for Rémy; and she prayed for the strength to do the right thing, whatever that might be.

By the time she slipped into the hidden library and lit the lantern a half hour later, she felt a peace she hadn’t felt in ages. Maybe it was Madame Barbier’s words about saving France, or perhaps God was listening to her prayers after all and steering her in the right direction. She sat down to work, and perhaps because a weight had been lifted, the ink flowed more steadily, and the work went quickly. By midnight, she had completed three new sets of papers for the newest children to arrive in Aurignon.

It was too far past curfew to return to the boardinghouse now, and though Eva’s hands ached, her mind was still racing. She stood to stretch, and after pacing for a few minutes, she decided to head out into the church to say another prayer; it had calmed her earlier, and she knew she needed all the comfort she could get.

She had just cracked open the door from the secret library when she heard voices in the church. Her heart thudding, she melted back into the shadows. Who could be here this late at night? It was too dangerous now, though, to pull the door to the library closed. She was fairly confident, as the conversation continued, that no one had heard her emerge, but she might not be so lucky if she tried to retreat. She stayed stock-still and tried to breathe as shallowly as possible.

The voices—both male—were coming from across the church, and it took a minute for it to register that one of them belonged to Père Clément. She relaxed slightly; he had every right to be here, even if the timing was odd. The man with him could easily be another member of the Resistance or even a troubled parishioner who had come to seek God.

Just as she was breathing more normally, though, the man spoke again, and she stifled a gasp. The man’s accent was unmistakably German. Heart thudding, she crept forward, careful not to make a sound. There must be a logical explanation.

But when she finally peered over the edge of a pew near the library and saw Père Clément on the other side of the church, her blood ran cold. The person with him was a man around her age with gold, wavy hair and ruddy cheeks.

And he was wearing a Nazi uniform.

Eva put a hand over her mouth and retreated into the shadows. She couldn’t make a sound; if the men heard her, she’d be finished. Unless this meeting is innocent, she reminded herself. The German could have sought Père Clément out because he needed religious counsel Perhaps I’m jumping to conclusions.

But as she strained to make out the conversation, her last shreds of optimism vanished.

“They’ll be moving on the thirteenth,” the German was saying in a low voice, his words just barely distinguishable.

“That’s sooner than planned.” Père Clément’s voice was clearer.

“Yes. That’s why I’ve come. I need names.”

“And then what?”

“We’re expecting Schr?der or Krause to make an appearance early in the week.”

“So that’s it, then.”

“For now. You have the list?”

“Here it is.”

“I’ll do what I can.”

She heard rustling, and a few seconds later, footsteps. She scooted back a few more inches, trying to make herself invisible against the wall, but the sounds were retreating, moving toward the back of the church. She held her breath again until she’d heard the main door open and close. Père Clément must have exited with the German, for there were no returning footsteps. Heart pounding, Eva waited another two minutes before ducking back into the library and pulling the door quickly closed behind her. If Père Clément found her, she would act as if she’d been here all along.

Her hands shook as she sat down at the small table. Was Père Clément betraying them? Was he trading information with a Nazi? She replayed the conversation in her head and again heard the friendly tone between the two and the priest’s easy familiarity with the German names the soldier had mentioned. And clearly, he had handed over some kind of list. But what could this mean? Was Père Clément playing some sort of long game she didn’t understand? Or was she getting it all wrong?