The Book of Lost Names

by Kristin Harmel

  She closed her eyes and breathed in the scent of him, musk and salt and pine. “There’s a library in Paris called the Mazarine,” she said. “And when I was a little girl, my father used to bring me there once a week. He repaired the typewriters at many of the libraries before he got a job working at the prefecture of police, but the Mazarine was always my favorite. I would sit on the steps waiting for him, my head in the clouds, dreaming of princes and princesses and faraway kingdoms.” She laughed softly. “You know, I used to imagine that I’d get married one day to a prince, right there on the library’s steps.”

  “The Mazarine?” Rémy repeated.

  “Yes, it’s part of the Palais de l’Institut de France, on the Left Bank.”

  Rémy chuckled and kissed the top of her head. “I know. I used to play on the steps there when I was a little boy. My mother and I would walk across the Pont des Arts, and she would leave me outside while she went in to read. ‘Don’t leave the steps, Rémy,’ she would tell me. ‘There are bad people in this world.’ And so I would stay right there, pretending that I was a knight fighting off enemies coming to steal the books.”

  Eva sat up and looked at him in disbelief. “Do you think we might have seen each other there?”

  “It’s possible. I was there on and off for years, until my mother died the summer I turned twelve. I never went back.”

  “And when my father got the job at the prefecture of police, I stopped going, too.” She shook her head and settled back against his chest. Was it possible that the prince she had dreamed of so often as a little girl had been right there all along? The coincidence felt extraordinary—fate rather than chance. She sighed in contentment. “I’m very sorry you lost your mother when you were so young, Rémy. I’ve never heard you speak of her.”

  “I used to think that memories were less painful when you held them close. I think perhaps that isn’t true, though. Now I think pain loses its power when we share it.”

  Tears in her eyes, Eva nodded. “You can always share with me.”

  “I know that now.” Rémy kissed the top of her head again. “One day, when the war is over, shall we go there again? To the Mazarine?”

  She smiled into his chest. “Paris will be Paris again, and no one will stare because I’m a Jew. We’ll just be two people meeting on the steps of a library.”

  When quiet descended once more, Eva’s eyelids began to grow heavy. She was almost asleep when Rémy broke the silence. “You said you used to dream of getting married there.”

  “It sounds silly now, I know.”

  “No, it doesn’t.” Rémy waited until Eva looked up at him. “What if we did that?”

  “Did what?”

  “Got married. On the steps of the Mazarine Library.”

  “Rémy, I—” She couldn’t finish her sentence, though. She closed her eyes, her heart breaking. She wanted to marry him, more than she wanted almost anything else in the world. But how could she do that to Mamusia, a woman who had lost everything, a woman who might never forgive what she would see as Eva turning her back on Judaism? She couldn’t say no, though, for how could she let her mother’s judgment eclipse her own? It was a terrible idea to live a life dictated by someone else’s prejudices. There was no right answer.

  When she opened her eyes again, she could see Rémy watching her, and she knew from the expression on his face that he had read her mind. “Your mother,” he said softly. “She would never approve.”

  “It shouldn’t matter.” Eva wiped away a tear that had slid down her cheek.

  “Of course it should,” he said gently. He kissed her forehead. “Family means everything, and right now, your family is broken.”

  “She’ll understand one day. She’s just so angry right now, angry and frightened. And she misses my father so much…”

  “Who can blame her?” Rémy began to stroke Eva’s hair. “She fears that if you love someone different from you, someone who doesn’t belong to your faith, it means losing you, too.”

  “But it doesn’t. She’ll never lose me. I’ll make sure of it. The way you and I found each other, Rémy, this must be God’s plan.”

  “Then we must trust in him to bring us together again.” He took a deep breath. “It doesn’t matter how much I love you. I can’t ask you to spend your life with me until your mother understands.”

  “But, Rémy…”

  “If we’re meant to be together, there will always be time. But I can’t cost you the last of your family. I love you too much to do that.”

  “I love you, too.” Eva could feel her tears falling now, soaking Rémy’s chest in the darkness. “I’m so sorry, Rémy. I’m sorry I’m not stronger.”

  “Eva, you’re the strongest person I know—strong enough that even now, you’re doing the right thing, though it may break your heart.”

  She knew, even as she accepted his words, that she would regret this moment for the rest of her life. “I’ll talk to her as soon as she reaches Switzerland. I’ll make her see. It’s just that I cannot make her accusations true by abandoning her. I can’t become the person she fears I am. I would never forgive myself for hurting her that way.”

  Rémy cupped her chin gently and looked into her eyes. “Darling, I know.”

  “You’ll still come back for me? After the war?”

  “Of course I will. I’ll meet you on the steps of the Mazarine, and then the rest of our lives can begin.”

  “Ani l’dodi v’Dodi li,” she whispered.

  “What does that mean?”

  “It’s Hebrew for ‘I am my beloved’s, and my beloved is mine.’ It’s from Shir Hashirim, the Song of Songs. It’s—it’s something people say when they marry, to promise each other forever.”

  Rémy smiled at her. “Then in that case, Ani l’dodi v’Dodi li.” He leaned forward and kissed her, so gently it felt like he was already gone.

  And though her stomach swam with uncertainty and the heat of the fire was fading, leaving the house darker, colder, Eva finally drifted off, the exhaustion of the past several days—and the joy of reuniting with Rémy—finally taking their toll. He stroked her hair until she fell asleep.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Eva dreamed of standing on the steps of the Mazarine Library in a white dress, searching for a groom who never came. She awoke with a start, tears streaming down her face, and it took a few seconds to remember that she wasn’t in Paris, that she hadn’t been abandoned at the altar, and that Rémy was right there with her.

  But as she blinked into the early morning light filtering through the edges of the small cottage’s blackout shades, she realized that the room was cold, the fire was out, and Rémy was gone.

  She jumped up, heart hammering, but he wasn’t in the kitchen, and the washroom was empty, too. She threw open the door into the icy morning, hoping that he had just stepped out for some fresh air, but the garden was empty, and there were no footsteps in the freshly fallen snow. That meant that he’d left hours ago, long enough that the last traces of him had disappeared.

  Eva shut the door. Numb, she backed into the small house. It was then that she noticed a piece of paper on the small wooden table she’d slept beside last night. It was a letter, addressed to her, and as she picked it up and began to read, her last shred of hope vanished.

  Dearest Eva,

  Being here with you has made me believe that miracles are possible, and I will treasure our night together until I see you again. I only hope that one day, things will be different for us.

  You must go to Switzerland tonight, my love. It’s the only way for you to live, and you must live, Eva. You must go on. I will tell Père Bouyssonie to expect you; you should return to the presbytery after nightfall, and he will help you across.

  Eva, please know that I love you, and that I will love you for the rest of my life.

  I am my beloved’s, and my beloved is mine.

  Rémy

  Eva read the letter twice, tears streaming down her face. Rémy had gone
out into the cold night knowing that she wasn’t strong enough to promise him forever, and that cut her to the core. It was her fault, and she knew she had done the wrong thing. After all, her mother had viewed the situation through a scope narrowed by anger and loss. Why had Eva let that define her life? Her future?

  And what if Rémy never returned? What if he didn’t survive the coming months? What if Eva herself perished? She would never be able to right the wrong, to tell him that her answer could only be yes, to tell him that she loved him with all her soul.

  Suddenly, though, Eva had a thought. Certainly the bus back to Annecy didn’t run this early in the morning. That meant that Rémy was still somewhere in town, didn’t it? Perhaps there was still time to find him, to rectify her mistake, to tell him that nothing mattered but him, that she would marry him and find a way to make her mother understand.

  She was pulling on her coat and heading out the door before she could stop herself, although as she trudged through the freshly fallen snow toward the priest’s home, doubt set in. Would appearing at the priest’s home in broad daylight create a problem for him? She stopped suddenly and considered, but it took her only a few seconds to begin moving again. She had to get to Rémy.

  Smoke snaked from the chimney of the priest’s home, and the lights were on, which indicated he was awake already. Could Rémy be there, too? Eva said a quick prayer, took a deep breath, and knocked.

  When Père Bouyssonie answered the door a minute later, he looked surprised to see Eva. He blinked at her a few times before taking her by the arm and pulling her in without a word, hastily closing the door behind her.

  “You shouldn’t have come until nightfall,” he said, but his tone was gentle, not angry.

  “I’m so sorry. I need to see Rémy.”

  “I’m sorry, my dear, but he’s already gone.”

  “He was here this morning?”

  The priest nodded. “He left before dawn with a member of the underground who was driving back to Lyon.”

  Eva’s heart sank. It was too late. There would be no way to find him once he was reabsorbed into the dense forests outside Aurignon. Her eyes filled, and she wiped her tears away, but not before the priest saw them. He pulled her into a hug, and she sobbed on his shoulder for a few seconds before gathering herself and pulling away.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I—I shouldn’t have come.”

  “I’m glad you did, Eva.” It was then that she realized that his expression was grave. “I’m afraid I have some news. It came in an hour after Rémy departed.”

  “News?”

  He sighed. “Come with me.” He led Eva toward the attic ladder, which was already down, and pointed upward. “We have a visitor.” He motioned her toward the ladder and followed her up into the space above.

  It took Eva’s eyes a few seconds to adjust to the darkness, but as soon as she could see, she gasped. There in the corner was Madame Trintignant, the baker from Aurignon, her hair disheveled, her blouse ripped at the sleeve, her eyes bloodshot. “Madame?” Eva said. “What on earth are you doing here? What’s happened?”

  “Oh, Eva!” Madame Trintignant leaned in to hug her awkwardly. “It’s all over in Aurignon.”

  “What?”

  “The arrests…” She broke down sobbing but quickly gathered herself. “The Germans came. They arrested so many of us. Madame Barbier. Madame Travere. Madame Noirot. Everyone.”

  A chill ran through Eva. “What about Père Clément?”

  Madame Trintignant shook her head. “He was fine when I left. He was the one who told me how to get here, who insisted that I had to flee immediately.” She hesitated, her gaze sliding away. “They have your mother, Eva.”

  “My mother? No, no, that’s impossible. She has nothing to do with this.”

  A single tear fell from the baker’s eye. “The Germans were looking for you, and when your mother wouldn’t tell them where you’d gone, they took her instead.”

  “No, no, no. Is she…?” Eva couldn’t finish the sentence.

  “She was alive when I left,” Madame Trintignant said quickly. “Though they took her to the prison in Clutier, I think. I’m afraid they know her real identity.”

  Eva’s blood ran cold. “How?”

  Madame Trintignant merely shook her head.

  The priest leaned in to put a comforting hand on Eva’s shoulder. “I will pray for her, Eva. We all will.”

  “But…” Eva’s head was spinning. “I—I have to go back.”

  Madame Trintignant and Père Bouyssonie exchanged glances. “You cannot,” Madame Trintignant said firmly. “They know who you are now. They’re looking for you. They will execute you, Eva.”

  “I can’t just abandon my mother.”

  “Leave it to the underground,” Père Bouyssonie said. “They’ll do what they can.”

  But Eva knew the fighters hidden in the forest would have bigger things to worry about than saving an imprisoned middle-aged woman who had no value to them. She had to go now, or her mother would die. Eva bit back a sob. “No,” she said when she could breathe again. “I have to make things right.”

  “What has happened to your mother isn’t your fault.”

  “Of course it is! If I had never become involved in any of this, she and I would have been safe in Switzerland a year and a half ago.”

  “If you return now, you’ll surely be killed,” Madame Trintignant said softly. “Do you want to play right into their hands?”

  Eva stared at her, her heart racing with fear. The baker was right, but what choice was there? She could never forgive herself if she simply left her mother to be murdered because of choices she herself had made. When her father was taken, there wasn’t anything she could do. But Mamusia’s life could be saved if Eva returned. “I have to go,” she said softly, her mind already made up as she turned to the priest.

  He hesitated before nodding in resignation. “Then you should hurry. The bus to Annemasse leaves in thirty minutes.”

  “Thank you, Père Bouyssonie.”

  “Don’t thank me. I fear I am sending you to your death.” He sighed. “May God be with you, Eva. You’ll be in my prayers.”

  * * *

  It was late the next morning before Eva arrived back in Aurignon after taking a train from Annemasse to Lyon, spending a sleepless night shivering in the station, then taking another train to Clermont-Ferrand and a bus to town. She went straight to the church and found Père Clément standing in front of the altar, the pews around him broken and splintered. He turned as she entered, and his eyes widened.

  “You’re supposed to be in Switzerland!” he said, moving toward her, his eyes wild. His robe was askew, his face bruised. “My God, Eva, what are you doing here? It’s not safe. Don’t you know?”

  “My mother,” she managed to choke out, and all at once, his face softened, and he took the final steps toward her, pulling her into an embrace as she collapsed into him. “What happened, Père Clément?” she asked through sobs. “Where is she? I have to help her.”

  “Come, my dear,” he said, pulling away from her and glancing around. “It’s not safe here. They haven’t arrested me yet, but I fear it’s only because they are hoping you’ll return and I’ll lead them to you.”

  Eva wiped her tears away. “They destroyed the church…”

  “It’s not destroyed, Eva. A church always stands as long as God remains. Don’t forget that. Now quickly, go out the back and to the schoolhouse where you first met with Faucon. Do you remember?”

  “Yes.”

  “I will be along soon. Beware—they might have someone following you.”

  But as Eva crept out the back door, the morning was quiet, and there were no footsteps crunching in the snow behind her. She took a roundabout route, just in case, but by the time she turned the final corner to the schoolhouse, she was certain she was alone.

  The building was cold and dark, long emptied of its children and their teachers. At some point since Eva had seen it
last, the place had been ransacked, desks tipped over, books pulled from their shelves, pages ripped out and sent flying into piles that now lurked in the dim corners, purposeless. There was something eerie, otherworldly about the place. The shades were drawn, but sunlight snuck through jagged rips and tears, casting moving shadows each time the wind howled outside. One of the windows was broken, and gusts of biting air swept through.

  Eva crouched in the corner closest to the chalkboard, her back to the wall, feeling like a sitting duck. As the minutes ticked by, her concern mounted. Had Père Clément been followed? Arrested? Were the Germans coming for her now? Had she been a fool to come to him, when doing so could only have increased the danger for both of them?

  Then the schoolroom door cracked open, and in a burst of snow and sunlight, Père Clément appeared, quickly pulling the door closed behind him. “Eva,” he whispered. “I’m here.”

  She stood and emerged from the shadows. “Père Clément. I was so worried.”

  As they stood together in the shivering light, he took her hand. “We don’t have much time, Eva. You must leave Aurignon before they realize you’re back.”

  “I cannot. Not without my mother.”

  “Eva, I’m so sorry, but chances are they’ve already killed her.”

  Eva shook her head. “No. No, I don’t believe it.”

  “Eva—”

  “What happened, Père Clément?” she interrupted. “How did things go so wrong?”

  “Someone within our inner circle betrayed us, Eva. It’s the only possibility. The Germans knew nearly everyone in town who was involved.”

  “Could it have been Erich?”

  “I wondered that at first, too, but I was his only point of contact, and I was very careful with what I shared.” He took a deep breath. “Eva, Claude Gaudibert was arrested and tortured by the Germans. I’m certain Erich didn’t know about him, had never met him, so he couldn’t have been the one to give him up.”

  If the Germans had gotten to the Resistance leader, they must have had inside information, for only a handful of people would have known his identity or where to find him. “Is Gaudibert dead?”