The Book of Lost Names(71)

Just then, there was a noise at the library door, and she gasped. As the door cracked open, she threw her arms and head down on the table and pretended that she’d fallen asleep in the middle of her work. Though she was still trembling, she forced herself to take long, slow breaths. As she felt a presence over her, she even faked a light snore, hoping that it would mask the fact that her hands were still shaking uncontrollably.

“Eva?” Père Clément spoke softly. “Eva, are you awake?”

Eva squeezed her eyes closed and prayed he would go away. He lingered there for a few more seconds before sighing and muttering something unintelligible, then she could hear footsteps retreating and the library door opening. She cracked open an eye just in time to see Père Clément, still in his priestly robe, disappearing back into the church as quietly as he’d come. He pulled the door closed behind him, leaving her in total darkness.





Chapter Twenty-Two




Eva didn’t dare stir or leave the library until dawn broke, and as she waited, exhaustion finally forced her into a strange half slumber filled with nightmares of monsters dressed as men.

When she finally let herself out just past eight in the morning, there was no sign of Père Clément, but she didn’t breathe easily until she had returned to the boardinghouse. Her mother was still in her nightgown and robe, taking her morning ersatz coffee in the parlor, and she looked up wearily as soon as Eva entered. “Night after night, I worry sick about you,” she said by way of greeting. “But I suppose that doesn’t matter to you, does it?”

Eva’s head pounded. “Mamusia, I can’t do this right now. I have to go find Joseph.”

Her mother brightened immediately. “Joseph? How lovely. Why don’t you invite him to dinner again? He’s handsome, he’s young, he’s single…”

“Please stop.”

“Don’t dismiss me so easily, Eva. He’s a good man—a good family man. Do you know he’s been coming by to check on me once a week?”

Eva stopped and stared at her. “He’s been doing what?”

Mamusia’s chest puffed out with pride. “He says I remind him of his own mother. He stays and prays with me, Eva, which is more than you do. You could learn something from him, you know. He’d be a wonderful son-in-law.”

“Mamusia, enough!”

“It’s just that you should think of him, Eva. You should be with someone like us.”

“Yes, well, isn’t that what the Nazis say, too, when they encourage their young people to band together against those who are different?” Eva knew she’d gone too far, but she couldn’t help it. Her mother lived in a world of black and white, and Eva knew that neither of those colors existed, not really; it was all a spectrum of gray.

Mamusia’s eyes narrowed. “It’s easy to dismiss me. But Joseph is someone you can trust. How can you turn your back on that?”

Eva sighed. “Please, Mamusia, you must stop trying to matchmake for me.”

Her mother frowned, but she didn’t say another word when Eva emerged from the bedroom ten minutes later after having changed clothes and splashed some water on her face. She merely waved goodbye with a small, encouraging smile, clearly hoping that Eva would take her advice.

Eva wasn’t sure where to find Joseph, though, and it wasn’t as if she could ask Père Clément. Nor could she go around town asking for Faucon. But, she realized, Madame Travere might have a way to reach him in case of emergency, and certainly she could be trusted. She’d been putting her life on the line for more than a year simply to save innocent children.

She knocked on the door of the children’s home twenty minutes later, and the silver-haired caregiver appeared almost instantly, cracking the door only a sliver as she peered out suspiciously. “What is it?” she snapped.

“It’s me, Eva Moreau.” Using her alias with people she trusted still felt disingenuous, even after all this time. Then again, if last night had shown her anything, it was that no one could be trusted at all.

Madame Travere pursed her lips, considering, and then she opened the door more widely to allow Eva in. “This is quite unusual, Mademoiselle Moreau. I’ve had no notice that you were coming.”

“I’m very sorry, madame. This is—an unusual situation. I need to reach Gérard Faucon, and I was wondering whether you might help me.”

Madame Travere didn’t say anything as she led Eva up the two flights of stairs into the parlor, where five young children, who ranged in age from around three to about eight, were playing quietly. After the raids in February, in which the authorities had turned up nothing, Madame Travere and the others had waited only two weeks before beginning to take in children again. There was no other way; there weren’t enough places to put them, not enough people to entrust them to. A wave of sadness swept over Eva as she watched them.

“Mademoiselle Moreau,” Madame Travere said, and as Eva turned to her, she realized the older woman had been watching her closely as she stared at the children. Her expression had softened a bit, and Eva had the strange sense she had passed some sort of test she hadn’t known she’d been taking. “I understand that there are quite a few young ladies in town who would like to get in touch with Faucon, but—”