The Librarian Spy(107)

A name as once familiar as the apartment in which she now lay crumpled on the floor.

With trembling hands, she unfolded the note.

I waited for several hours, but I fear you do not reside here any longer. I hope you receive this as I have no other way to locate you. I want to thank you for the time you allowed me to use your name, though truly this note is so ineffectual to express the depth of my gratitude. You saved my life with your sacrifice. It only seemed right to return this to you.
Elaine looked down at the identity card once more.

It had never occurred to her that she could take her name back. In the last two years, Hélène had become something of the past. A woman who selfishly made demands of what she wanted in her life, who thought she could bend circumstances to her will, who allowed her temper to squander the last precious days of her time with Joseph.

But Bélanger...yes, she would take that name once more, to have and to cherish the eternal gift bestowed upon her by the man she would always love.

A week later, when she arrived at her printing press to begin a fresh list of survivors that needed to be printed and shared, she found Etienne waiting for her with a painfully thin man at his side.

The stranger’s shoulders were hunched forward, his hands clasped together in a diminutive stance, as if trying to make himself as small as possible. But he kept his head lifted, his large dark eyes watching her with interest.

It was not the first time Etienne had brought one of the camp survivors to her. He too spent most of his days tracking down family for those who had been unjustly imprisoned. Perhaps it was his time as a soldier that led him to such philanthropic pursuits, though Elaine suspected it had much to do with his personal penance when it came to Joseph and others he had not been able to save.

“It is good to see you, Etienne.” She kissed his cheeks and was met with the familiar scent of cigarettes. He and the other men of France—and some women as well—were relieved to have their tobacco stocks restored.

She turned her attention to the man.

“This is Saul.” Etienne set a hand gently to the man’s thin shoulder, the gesture one of affection as well as being somewhat reverent.

“Bonjour, Saul.” She offered him a smile and kept her tone gentle. Many camp survivors still jumped at being spoken to, haunted by the nightmares of their daily life of barking orders and senseless, unwarranted punishments. “May I help you?”

“I may help you.” His voice was thin and reedy, his breath whistling in his narrow chest beneath clothes that were far too large for his shrunken frame. He held out his fisted hand, which she opened her palm beneath.

“I’m sorry for its state,” he said as he spread his long fingers and let a scrap of paper fall into her waiting hand. “I kept it within my shoe for months.”

Elaine used two fingers to gently pry apart the paper and immediately recognized the handwriting as her own. She drew in a shaky inhale at the familiar words.

Dearest Joseph,
I’m sorry for everything I said. I love you always.
-Hélène
“He was with Joseph,” Etienne said.

Elaine’s throat went tight with emotion. “How?” she managed to croak.

“We were in Auschwitz together,” Saul replied. “The first week I arrived, I became very ill. I survived only because of your husband. He held me upright through the work, doing my share and his so I would not be shot. I do not even know where he found the strength. Perhaps in you.” He gestured to the paper. “He looked at that often, cupped in the cradle of his hand, protected in the heel of his shoe otherwise. One day, an officer caught him smuggling potato peels to give to a man in our row who could not raise himself from bed. I was with Joseph when the officer shot him. He was clutching your note when he died.” Saul’s voice caught and his eyes welled with tears. “I thought it only right to keep it for him, to return his most cherished possession to you.”

Elaine’s mouth stretched over her teeth as she tried to keep back her tears, to summon the words to thank the man for such a precious gift. All these months, she had tried to push this note from her mind, to not dwell on the fear that Joseph had died never knowing how truly sorry she was, how very much she did love him.

A sob choked from her. “I love him so much.”

Tears ran down Saul’s cheeks, and he opened his thin arms to her. “And he loved you.” The man whose body was little more than the bones framing his skin and who had endured cruelties beyond imagination, offered Elaine solace and comfort greater than any she had received in a long time. He had known Joseph in those final months, in the final seconds.

“Thank you,” she whispered with all the love in her heart. “Thank you for this gift.”

Saul smiled up at her through his own tears and gently patted her face.

But he was not the only one owed her gratitude. She reached for Etienne’s hand and squeezed it with all the appreciation welling within her. “You got the note to him.”

“I told you I would do all I could.”

Saul and Etienne were not the last of her guests that week. On a sunny Friday, after the bells tolled half past noon, a quiet rap sounded at the door. Elaine crossed the threshold to welcome another visitor in search of their loved one.

A pretty young woman stood on the other side, her dark hair pulled back into victory rolls to reveal intelligent, clear green eyes. “Are you Elaine Rousseau?” she asked with a dialect Elaine could not place.