The Book of Lost Names(85)

“Please,” she whispered. “Please stay in Switzerland with me. What if you lose your life, Rémy?”

He turned away. “If I die for France, it won’t be a life lost. It will be a country saved. My only regret will be that it will cost me the chance for a future with you.”

A sob rose in Eva’s throat, and she managed to stifle it just as a uniformed French gendarme approached.

“Papers,” he barked, and Eva flashed him what she hoped was a pleasant smile as she extracted her false documents, and those of the children, from her handbag, where she had slipped them moments earlier after removing them from her sleeve. Rémy handed his papers over, too, and the policeman scrutinized them with a frown, flipping from one set to the next.

“Everything should be in order,” Rémy said after a long minute had passed and the man still hadn’t spoken. Beside her, Eva could feel little Jacqueline trembling.

“Perhaps,” the man in uniform said, looking up at Rémy with a hard stare. He made no move to return their papers. “But you see, this is a popular route for smugglers.”

“Smugglers?” Rémy’s laugh of disbelief was convincing. “Sir, we are just traveling with our children. You suspect them of smuggling what? Money? Guns?”

Eva bit back a gasp; was Rémy provoking the man on purpose?

The man glanced from Rémy to the children, his gaze finally settling on Eva. “As I’m sure you know, people are being smuggled. How do I know these children are yours?”

“How could you suggest such a thing?” Eva feigned indignation. “I birthed them all myself. We are simply going to visit my mother, who lives in Annecy. We will return in two days’ time.”

He looked hard at her and then turned to the oldest boy with a smirk. “You, there. Georges, is it? These are your parents? What are their names, then?”

The boy’s face turned red, and he gaped at the officer. Eva was just about to cut in, to blurt out their false names, but she was beaten to the punch by four-year-old Jacqueline.

“My maman is Lucie Besson, and my papa is André Besson,” she said calmly, her eyes wide. “You see them just here. And who are you? My parents told me that German officers aren’t frightening, that they are our friends, but you, you are not a German.”

The man gaped at her and then turned to Rémy. “You told your daughter here that she should trust the Germans?”

Rémy shrugged while Eva tried not to exhale audibly. The man had called Jacqueline their daughter, which meant he believed them.

“Well,” the gendarme said. “So then you are not smugglers, I see. You are merely fools.”

He thrust the papers at them and walked away, shaking his head. Rémy and Eva waited until he was out of sight around the corner before bending simultaneously to the little girl. “How did you know to say that?” Eva asked. “You saved us.”

The girl smiled. “I had two older brothers who taught me that when telling a fib, to widen your eyes to sell the act.” Then her smile faltered, and as she hung her head, she added in a whisper, “They were taken with my real maman and papa.”

Eva embraced the girl, wishing she could take away the pain that had already been inflicted. But it was too late. Loss would forever be etched on the child like a tattoo; it might fade over time, but it would never be erased.



* * *



Just before midnight, the train to Annecy pulled into the station, and with their heads down, Rémy and Eva led their new “family” aboard. They had spent the past few hours watching over the children as they slept and whispering to each other about the things that had happened over their time apart. Eva wanted to savor every moment, but after the children were settled into seats and the train had pulled into the darkness of the French countryside, exhaustion tugged at her. She hadn’t slept in two days, and here, with Rémy at her side, she felt safer than she’d felt in months.

“Get some rest,” he whispered as the children dozed nearby. “I’ll keep the first watch, and I’ll wake you if anyone comes to check our papers.”

She stifled a yawn. “You must be very tired, too.”

He touched her cheek gently. “Eva, it will be a gift to watch you sleep.”

And so she dozed on his shoulder for a few hours, and after a German policeman gave their documents a bored, cursory check, she insisted on Rémy taking a turn. He leaned into her, and she stroked his hair, marveling at the miracle that had brought them back together. But how long would it be until they were separated again?

At just past six in the morning, Eva roused Rémy, and together they woke the children. The train pulled into the small station in Annecy at six thirty, and they quickly made their way down a narrow lane outside the station doors to a Protestant church nearby. It was a boxy brick building with a large cross out front. Inside, the pews were made of dark, smooth wood, and a simple metal cross shone down from above the altar.

“Stay here with the children,” Rémy whispered to Eva. “If anyone enters, pretend you’re praying. The pastor here is named Chapal. He’ll vouch for you.”

“Where are you going?”

“To see a priest.”

Eva blinked at him. “A priest?”