The Book of Lost Names

by Kristin Harmel

  When no one came out onto the street, she convinced herself that her imagination was simply playing tricks on her. But as she hurried along, there was another flash of movement, and she turned just in time to see a uniformed German duck onto the street from one of the alleys, his head turned away.

  Relax, she told herself. You see Germans every day.

  Then the German glanced her way, and as their eyes met for a fleeting second, she recognized him. Her blood ran cold. It was the man she had seen talking to Père Clément in the church, she was almost certain. Was he following her? But that was crazy, wasn’t it? She was certain he hadn’t seen her last night, but Père Clément had. What if he’d told the German that she might have overheard their clandestine conversation?

  She quickened her pace, her muscles tensed to flee if necessary, but after a few seconds, the German turned down another alleyway. She was practically running now, but as she turned onto the broader rue Valadon leading to the town square, the German was nowhere to be seen. Had she imagined that he was tailing her? Perhaps he hadn’t even been the same man she’d seen the night before; it had been dark in the church.

  Her gut told her she’d been right, though. Something was amiss. She changed directions and headed for one of the only other people in town she trusted.

  The bookstore seemed empty when Eva entered a few minutes later, but the chimes on the door alerted Madame Noirot, who came rushing out with a smile on her face that fell the moment she saw Eva’s expression.

  “My dear?” she asked, crossing to Eva quickly and placing both palms on her cheeks. “What is it? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

  For a second, Eva faltered. What was she doing here? After all, Père Clément was close to Madame Noirot; what if she was in on the betrayal, too? Then Eva gazed around at all the beautiful books, and she looked back into the wide, concerned eyes of the woman who’d been the first to make her feel welcome here, and she felt something inside of her break. If Madame Noirot had ill intentions, too, nothing made sense anymore. She needed to trust someone, and Madame Noirot seemed like her best bet. “I—I was in the church last night and overheard Père Clément talking to a German soldier.”

  Madame Noirot blinked a few times and let her hands fall from Eva’s face. “Well? What were they saying?”

  “Something about some Germans who were expected to arrive soon. And a list. I think Père Clément gave him a list of some sort. It—it seemed quite suspicious.”

  “There must be an explanation.”

  “What if there isn’t?”

  Madame Noirot’s knuckles were white as she squeezed Eva’s hands. “Eva, don’t do anything foolish. Père Clément has done nothing but help you, and I’ve seen him risk his life to help others, too. We owe him the benefit of the doubt.”

  Eva hung her head. “I know.” It was why she hadn’t said anything to Madame Travere. But she was terrified. “I’ve been trying to find Faucon. He’ll know what to do.”

  “And you’re so sure you can trust him?”

  Eva nodded. They had history—and he’d already done so much to help the cause. “Yes, I am.”

  “Still, I think you should speak to Père Clément first. Once you’ve spoken to Faucon, it’s out of your hands, isn’t it? And sometimes, the underground reacts before they have all the facts. They’re running scared, too, you know, and fear doesn’t always make for clear heads.”

  Eva nodded slowly. Madame Noirot was right. Still, she was terrified. What if talking to Père Clément was, in effect, signing her own death warrant? “If something happens to me…”

  “I will find Faucon and tell him. And I will look out for your mother. But, dear, I don’t think you have anything to fear.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Eva said softly. “In any case, I know it’s something I must do.” After all, she was already living on borrowed time. Every moment that had passed since the July roundup in Paris had been one she shouldn’t have had. And it had been Père Clément who had given her life here a purpose. There was nothing to do but walk into the fire and hope she wasn’t burned alive.

  “Good luck, my dear,” Madame Noirot said. “I will be praying for you.”

  * * *

  Eva left the bookshop deep in thought. She needed to confront Père Clément right away, before she lost her courage. The only thing to do was to head for the church to find him. At least in the middle of the day, it would be more perilous for him to do her harm if her instincts were wrong. Whom was she kidding, though? If he was allied with the Germans, she was already doomed. That thought, strangely, made her feel better, for if that was the case, there was nothing to lose.

  “Eva!” A whisper from the shadows stopped her abruptly as she hurried toward the church. She looked in the direction of the voice, but there was no one there.

  “Eva!” the voice came again, and then Père Clément stepped from the alley to her right, a hat pulled low over his face.

  Her heart stopped. True, she had been on her way to speak with him, but she wasn’t ready yet. She didn’t have her thoughts in order, nor did she have an escape plan. Her eyes darted from side to side, and she forced a smile to buy time. “Père Clément, what are you doing here?”

  “I could ask you the same, Eva.” He stepped from the shadows, frowning. “I usually find you in the church library this time of day.”

  “I—I had some things I needed to do.”

  He stared at her, long and hard. “You overheard me in the church last night, didn’t you?”

  Eva could feel her cheeks growing warm. “I—I don’t know what you mean.”

  As he studied her face intently, she couldn’t help realizing that beneath his weariness, his eyes looked sad. “Have you told anyone yet?”

  She hesitated. “No.” If he was going to hurt her, he would also go after anyone else who knew.

  “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.

  “The fewer people who know, the better,” Père Clément said. “Erich came to me last year, and I’ve kept his identity a secret since then.”

  “So why tell me now?”

  “Because you saw us. And because I trust you, Eva. I need you to trust me, too. There will likely come a day when Erich needs papers to escape, and I need you to be ready.”

  Eva turned back to Erich. Up close, even in his chilling uniform, he didn’t look like a terrifying monster. He was just a man—and he was a man Père Clément trusted. “In February, were you the one who warned us about the raids on a few of the children’s homes?”

  “Yes.”

  Eva thought of little Frania Kor, who dreamed of finding a way out of Oz. Because of this German, the little girl had made it to Switzerland, where she would have a chance to survive. “If Père Clément trusts you, then I suppose I can try to, as well.”

  Erich smiled and extended his hand. “Well, then, shall we start again? I’m Erich.”

  She took a deep breath. It felt like the earth was shifting beneath her. “Eva. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Eva didn’t see Erich for the next few weeks, but somehow, knowing he was there, knowing he was feeding information to the priest, brought her some comfort, though the idea of a German ally was still taking some getting used to. It was a reminder that it didn’t matter where someone had come from; virtue could live within everyone. Knowing that Erich was apparently standing up for goodness at the peril of his own life made Eva want to be braver, too.

  By June, the flowers were all in splendid bloom, and the flood of children had picked up again, thanks to the Germans’ increased fervor in rooting out Jews wherever they were hiding. There were more adults now than ever pouring into the forests and hills around Aurignon, too, because of the increasing demands of the Germans for forced labor. In January, the Germans had tried to press another quarter million Frenchmen into service, leading to a French law passed in February, requiring men born between 1920 and 1922 to go to work for the führer. In April, another 120,000 men were called up. The result was that a rising number of men were fed up with the invaders and were finally ready to fight. The armed résistants hiding in the forest swelled from hundreds to thousands, maybe even tens of thousands across France. It was impossible to know, because the maquisards, the fighters who made up the armed Maquis groups, specialized in staying hidden, able to move at a moment’s notice. And increasingly, they were confronting the Germans with violence. Rémy still hadn’t returned, and Eva worried more with each passing day that with his explosives expertise, he was on the front line of whatever dangerous things were going on. Père Clément had heard mentions of him here and there—that he had played a role in bombing a train track near Tresnay, that he’d been in on a weapons raid of a police station in Riom—but Eva felt very removed from the news. Still, it was a deep comfort to hear each time that he was still alive.

  Eva and Geneviève were working late one sunny morning on a batch of papers for a hundred new labor service dodgers when Père Clément appeared at the library door, followed by Joseph. Both women looked up, and Geneviève jumped to her feet.

  “Gérard!” she exclaimed, moving toward him with pink cheeks, but he didn’t even look at her. His eyes were on Eva, who stood slowly.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “The group you’ve been crafting documents for, they have to move quickly. I need whatever you can provide, immediately,” he said.

  “What’s happened?”

  “The Germans are getting too close. They need to move deeper into the forest before they’re found, and I want to help them, but the leaders there don’t trust me yet. They’re from a different region of France, and they don’t know me well. If I brought them documents…”

  “You want to use our documents as a way in?” Eva asked.

  He frowned. “Eva, I’m trying to save their lives. Please, help me to do that.”

  She glanced at Père Clément. He nodded slightly. “We’re not close to being done yet, Gérard,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

  He looked at the mess of documents covering the table. “Well, what have you completed? Identity cards?”

  “Only a few dozen. Although most of the ration cards are finished.”

  Joseph waved his hand dismissively. “Ration cards won’t do them much good in the middle of nowhere. But at least it’s something. Here, give me what you have.”

  Something made Eva hesitate. “That’s not the arrangement we have with the maquisards. They send a courier.”

  Joseph took a step closer and gently cupped Eva’s chin in his hand. “Eva, you trust me, don’t you?”

  She looked into his eyes and saw at once the young man who’d stood on the steps of the Sorbonne Library eleven months ago and warned her to save her family. Guilt surged through her, as well as remorse for doubting him, then and now. “Of course I do.”

  “I’m doing this to protect the fellows out there. Do you understand that
? Rémy might be among them.” He was still touching her chin, still staring into her eyes, and Eva knew he could see the pain there. “If you trust me with these documents, I promise I’ll do everything I can to locate him. But, Eva, if the Germans get there before I do…” They both knew the sentence didn’t need to be completed.

  “Gérard, perhaps I can help,” Geneviève spoke up beside Eva. She was staring at the two of them with concern. “Let me come with you.”

  “It’s better if I go alone.”

  “But if something happens to you…”

  “It won’t.” He turned back to Eva. “There’s no time to waste, Eva. What’ll it be?”

  Eva exchanged looks once more with Père Clément, who nodded. If Rémy was out there in the forest, and the Germans had the maquisards in their sights, there was no other choice. She had to do what she could to save them. Quickly, she shuffled the completed ration cards and documents into a stack and thrust them at Joseph. “Promise me that if you see Rémy, you’ll tell him I’m thinking of him.”

  Joseph frowned. “Eva, he cannot come back. He’s needed out there.”

  “Please, just promise me.”

  He hesitated before nodding. “I’ll deliver your message.” And then he was gone with the documents they’d toiled over, the ones with the false names and real faces of the men hidden in the trees, waiting to fight. And though Eva trusted Joseph with her life, though she knew he had tried to save her once and would do it again, she couldn’t help but feel a tiny tingle of doubt. If he wasn’t cautious enough, if he crossed paths with the wrong person on his journey, he could be handing a hit list over to the Germans instead of delivering salvation to the Resistance fighters. And she would have had a hand in it.

  “You did the right thing,” Père Clément said, watching Eva closely.

  “Did I?” she asked.

  “We have to take all the opportunities we can to preserve life,” he said.