The Book of Lost Names(74)

“You were looking for Faucon, weren’t you?”

She bowed her head. “Yes.”

“I’m very glad I found you first. Please, Eva, I’d like you to come with me. There’s something I’d like to show you.”

She looked up and met his gaze. “I…”

He blinked a few times. “Eva, I swear to God that I intend you no harm.” When she still didn’t move, he took a step closer. “Eva, you know me. I would never betray the vows of my faith—and I would never hurt you. It’s important to me that you understand what you saw last night.”

She took a deep breath. “But I saw you with a Nazi. I saw you give him a list.”

“Yes.” He extended his hand to her. “Please, Eva. I need you to trust me.”

She hesitated before reaching out and letting him grab her hand. He was right; she couldn’t imagine him going against God. And if he was going to offer an explanation, she needed to hear it.

He led her down the shadowy alley in silence. As they wove through side streets, farther and farther from the town square, she asked, “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.” He took a sharp right onto the rue de Levant and then into the doorway of the Boulangerie de Levant, the town’s bakery. This late in the morning, the ration queues were gone, and the shelves and cases were picked clean. Eva recognized the stout, gray-haired woman in a white apron behind the counter. Though Eva had never come here for bread, leaving the shopping to Madame Barbier, she had grown accustomed to exchanging bonjours with the bakery owner, Madame Trintignant, as she passed by on her way home from the church once or twice a week.

The older woman looked up with a smile as they entered. “Ah, Père Clément,” she said, glancing once at Eva and then back at the priest. “The bread is rising in the back.”

“Merci, madame.” Père Clément stepped forward and kissed the woman on both cheeks. “Eva, I’d like to introduce you to Madame Trintignant. Madame, this is Mademoiselle Moreau.”

“Of course. I’ve seen you around town. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” Madame Trintignant said, her gaze sharp and appraising behind her polite smile. She looked back at the priest and added, “I’ll lock the front door and keep an eye out.”

“Merci.” Père Clément took Eva’s trembling hand again and led her behind the counter and through a door with an ease that suggested he’d been here many times before. They emerged into a kitchen, humid and warm from the ovens. Dozens of loaves—probably padded with potato, oats, buckwheat, or even wood shavings to deal with the wheat shortage—cooled on the counter, and the yeasty scent of baking bread enveloped them. Eva’s stomach growled; she couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten.

“Père Clément, what—?” Eva began, but she stopped short when a man in a perfectly pressed German uniform emerged from a back doorway that appeared to lead to a storage area. She sucked in a sharp breath; she recognized him immediately. It was the German she’d seen last night with Père Clément in the church, the one she thought she’d spotted following her earlier. She yelped and turned to run, but Père Clément moved to block her way.

He caught her gently by the wrists. “Eva, please. This is Erich. He’s a friend.”

Eva stopped struggling and turned to stare at the German, who was looking back at her with wide, unblinking eyes. He was younger than she’d thought—perhaps only a year or two older than she was. His wavy hair looked blonder under the lights of the kitchen, too, and his eyes were a deep blue. She might have considered him handsome under other circumstances. “But he’s a Nazi.”

Something shifted in the German’s expression. “I promise, I’m on your side.” His accent was thick, coating the words like buttermilk.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “How can that be? You fight for Germany!”

“I wear the German uniform,” he corrected gently. “I’d like to think I fight for freedom, though.”

Eva looked to Père Clément in astonishment. How could he trust anything this man was saying?

“Eva, he’s the one who has been tipping us off about the raids at the children’s home,” Père Clément explained gently, his eyes never leaving Eva’s. “His warnings have helped us save dozens.”

She turned to look at the German, who didn’t look so threatening and imposing now. “Why are you helping us?”

“Because what my country is doing is wrong. It’s one thing for the führer to try to expand our territory. But the things we’re being ordered to do—to children, to Jews, to the elderly—they are barbaric.” He looked at Père Clément and then back at Eva. “I am not perfect. I am trying to be a good man, though, a good Catholic. It’s why I sought Père Clément out. I can’t ignore my conscience any longer.”

“If they discover that you’re helping us…”

“Yes, I would be executed immediately.”

Eva stared at him for a long time before turning to Père Clément. “Faucon doesn’t know?”

“No.”

“Why?” After all, he was high up in the Resistance, and she thought Père Clément trusted him.