The Book of Lost Names

by Kristin Harmel

  The priest nodded sadly. “They strung his body up just outside town, a warning to the rest of us.”

  Eva swallowed hard. “Where is Erich now?”

  “Almost certainly dead, too.” Père Clément looked miserable. “If the Germans knew where to find Gaudibert, it isn’t a stretch to believe they also knew about Erich passing us information.”

  “And Faucon? Have they captured Faucon?”

  “As far as I know, he’s still out there.”

  “Then I’ll go find him. He’ll know what to do about my mother.”

  “No.” Père Clément’s reply was instant, firm. “Even if he could be located, you could lead the Germans right to him. It would destroy what’s left of the circuit, Eva. Please, you cannot.”

  “I know. I just feel so helpless.” She hung her head. “How will I ever forgive myself if the decisions I’ve made cost my mother her life?”

  “Eva, the decisions you made saved your mother’s life. You cannot look back, only forward. And right now, they are searching for you, Eva. If you stay, you will die.”

  “But if I leave, I will never be able to live with myself.” She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders, looking him in the eye. “I can’t abandon my mother. I must do what I can to save her.”

  He stared at her for a long time before sighing. “I know. I was hoping that you would change your mind, but I know. And I think I have a plan. You go into hiding, somewhere safe. And I negotiate with the Germans on your behalf. I will tell them that if they let your mother go, you will turn yourself in.”

  “Won’t they just arrest and torture you to find out where I am?”

  “It’s a chance I’m willing to take.”

  “Even if they let my mother go for now, won’t they just rearrest her once they have me, too?”

  “There are a few people I trust in Lyon who haven’t been picked up yet. Madame Trintignant made it safely to the border, didn’t she? Your mother will, too. And just to increase the odds in our favor, I will try to get a message to the maquisards that we need a distraction to guarantee her safe passage.”

  “And then I’ll turn myself in, once I know she’s safe?”

  “No, Eva, of course not. You’ll run for your life. You’ll return to Switzerland, and you’ll grow old and tell people of the things that happened here.”

  “But if I run, they’ll kill you.”

  “These men still think they know God. They have fooled themselves into believing they are doing his will. I have to believe that even a Nazi would have second thoughts about killing a Catholic priest in cold blood.”

  Her mind spun as she stared at him. She couldn’t ask the priest to trade his life for hers, or even for her mother’s. The trouble her mother was in was her fault—and that meant she had to be the one to save her.

  “No, Père Clément. Thank you, but no. I will find another way.”

  “There may not be another way.”

  “Wasn’t it you who told me that God opens doors we don’t even know are there? I have to trust that with courage and faith, anything is possible.”

  The priest smiled sadly. “I’m afraid that sometimes, Eva, that isn’t enough.”

  “It’s all I have. Thank you for everything. For offering to risk your life for mine. For saving me in the first place. For giving me a purpose, a home. But now it’s my turn to stand up for what’s right. And you should go, before it’s too late. Go to Switzerland. Live. My mother and I will meet you there when we can.”

  She could see in his eyes that he knew Eva would never make it there, that she would die for her mother’s freedom. “I’m not leaving, Eva,” Père Clément said. “My place always has been—and always will be—in Aurignon. God has not abandoned me, and I will not abandon him. And I will do what I can for your mother, because I cannot turn my back on an innocent life any more than you can. It is my decision, not yours. Now go, Eva. Go, before the Germans catch up with us here.”

  Eva held him tight before letting go. She knew it would be the last time she would see the priest who had helped redeem her. As she slipped into the cold and windy morning a moment later, she prayed that God would be with her long enough to let her save one last life.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Eva knew, four hours later, as she walked through Clutier toward the small local prison the Germans had appropriated, that she was walking into the mouth of the lion and would probably be eaten alive. There was no other choice, though. Her only hope was that the Germans keeping watch there didn’t know her, and would be fooled by the way she had swathed herself in an extra layer of bulky clothes, making herself look ten pounds heavier. She had hastily produced documents identifying herself as a forty-nine-year-old widow whose husband had perished heroically at Verdun a generation before, and though it still felt like a foolhardy plan, she hoped that the Germans she encountered would buy the ruse, if only for a few minutes. That was all she needed to see if her mother was still alive.

  Please, God, she prayed silently as she hobbled toward the jail, her shoulders rounded, dragging her right leg and leaning on a cane. Please help me to save my mother. Whatever happens to me, it is your will. The closer she got, the more convinced she became that if she died today, it would be all right. She had always believed that after death, souls lived on, although in Judaism, the explanation wasn’t as clear-cut as it was in the Christian faith. But if she was right, if there was some sort of Garden of Eden waiting for her after she died, she would see Tatuś again, wouldn’t she? And one day, hopefully many, many years from now, Rémy might be there, too, on the other side. It was her belief that in the afterlife, you could see straight into each other’s souls, and then, at last, Rémy would know how she felt, and how much she regretted letting him walk away.

  If she lived, though, she had to get word to him that her answer was yes, had always been yes, would always be yes. After what had happened here, her mother would have to understand that in the face of such evil, the division between Christians and Jews meant nothing. All that mattered was that Rémy was a good person—and that time was too precious to waste. If you let me survive, she said to God as she turned the final corner onto the rue de Gravenot, I promise, I will do all I can to make things right with Rémy, too I must fix all my mistakes before it’s too late.

  And then the jail was ahead of her, dark and threatening even in the early afternoon light. Or perhaps it was just a trick of the shadows, cloaking the bricks in cruelty and despair.

  Bracing herself, Eva entered through the front door, her heart thudding as she dragged her leg behind her. A scarf covered the lower half of her face, and a hat shaded the rest. As she approached the desk, she was startled to see that the guard on duty was not German, as she had assumed he would be. He was instead a French gendarme, shuffling through papers, his eyes red-rimmed with exhaustion, his mouth set in a straight line beneath a narrow mustache.

  He looked up as she approached, and in that moment, she hated him with a hot fury that surprised her. He wasn’t someone born to the other side. He was a Frenchman, who had once sworn to protect his own people. But he had ignored that promise, and had chosen to side with the invaders, likely in a bid to secure himself a position of power when the war ended. The Germans would pay for what they had done one day, Eva felt sure, but there was a special place in hell for the French men and women who had sold their brothers and sisters to the enemy.

  The gendarme looked up, his eyes vacant as he gave her a cursory glance. “Madame?”

  Eva took a deep breath, gathering her courage, and then slumped further into her chest. “I am here to see Yelena Moreau,” she said, keeping her voice low and wobbling, like a sad woman beaten down by life.

  “And what is your business with Madame Moreau?” the gendarme asked, interest finally sparking in his eyes as he looked up. “Not that that is her real name anyhow, the dirty Jew.” He peered at Eva with narrowed eyes, but she kept her chin tucked and her hat pulled low as she fought to keep the
anger from flashing across her face. When he leaned in to try to see her better, she unleashed a violent, hacking cough, not bothering to cover her mouth. He shrank back, sneering in disgust.

  “I’ve been sent by the church,” she wheezed, and then before the gendarme could ask which church, or why, she coughed again, long and hard, spewing as much spittle as she could in his general direction. He looked repulsed, and as he scooted his chair even farther away from her, she knew she had assessed him correctly; he would be far more interested in avoiding an apparent case of tuberculosis than he would be in carrying out the mandates of the Germans.

  “Yes, well, it’s too late,” he said, returning to his paperwork.

  “Too late?” Eva managed to keep her tone even.

  “That’s what I said.”

  “She’s been moved, then?” But why would they have sent her mother east if they had planned to use her as bait?

  “Moved?” The gendarme looked almost amused as he snorted. “No, madame, she’s been executed. Just this morning.” He held up the index finger and thumb of his right hand and mimicked the firing of a handgun.

  The world went still. Eva wobbled on her feet, the breath knocked out of her. She tried to swallow, but her mouth was dry as dust. This time, when she doubled over coughing, it wasn’t playacting, it was pure grief. “No,” she said, gathering herself. “No, no. That’s impossible. She did nothing wrong.”

  The man’s expression wavered between suspicion and indifference for a second before settling once again on the former. “I hear she had a daughter who was helping the underground. Wouldn’t give her up.” He leaned forward slightly and tried to see Eva’s face, but she ducked her head to hide her tears. “You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you? About the daughter?”

  “Of course not.” Eva managed to keep her tone indignant, though her voice shook. “You’re certain you don’t have her confused with someone else?” Perhaps her whole world wasn’t dissolving into ash as he stared at her, oblivious.

  “Saw it with my own eyes.” The man leaned back in his chair again, looking satisfied, and in that moment, Eva had never hated another human being more. Dead. It felt impossible.

  “I see.”

  The man wasn’t done. Like an animal sensing fresh blood, he was suddenly animated, interested. “You know the worst part of it?”

  “I can’t imagine.” Eva could taste bile in her throat, bitter, surging. She needed to vomit, and for a split second, she imagined unloading the contents of her stomach onto the gendarme’s spotless uniform. But she couldn’t risk turning his revulsion into anger.

  “She was still defending the daughter as she died!” He guffawed, like he was sharing a joke with a friend rather than breaking the heart of an enemy. “The German who gave the order asked if she had any last words, and she said some nonsense about how she was proud to be the mother of someone so brave.” The man shook his head and snorted. “Old fool. It’s all the daughter’s fault.”

  “Yes, it is. There’s not a doubt in my mind.” Eva tucked her chin as much as she could now, trying to hide the tears streaming down her face as her heart splintered. She would never forgive herself. “And the woman arrested with her? Madame Barbier?”

  The gendarme shrugged. “Dead, too. What do you expect? She was helping the underground. She should have known better.”

  “I see.” Eva could hear her voice turning hoarse with grief, but the gendarme didn’t seem to notice. “Well, I must be returning to the church. I’ll say a prayer for Madame Moreau and Madame Barbier, but there are other parishioners who need our help, too.”

  “Of course,” the man said. “But perhaps you should talk to your church about not supporting traitors, yes?”

  “I feel certain, monsieur,” Eva replied, her voice shaking, “that traitors will get what they deserve when they come face-to-face with God.”

  The man nodded in satisfaction, and Eva added one last hacking, spitting cough to ensure that he didn’t follow her. She threw up in the skeletal bushes just outside the prison, expelling everything in her stomach, her tears melting the ice as they fell.

  * * *

  There was nothing left for Eva to lose.

  The Germans had taken her father and now her mother, and Eva knew she had only herself to blame. She was proud to be the mother of someone so brave, the gendarme had said, but Eva wasn’t brave. She was terrified; she had been all along. She’d been fooling herself to think that she could swallow her fear and make a difference. The only change she had brought about was the loss of the woman who had given her life. Hadn’t Tatuś’s last words to her been about taking care of her mother? Instead, Eva had thrown her to the wolves.

  Eva had failed her father back in Paris, and now she had failed her mother, too. Her parents were gone, and it was all her fault. She had hurt Rémy, too, by letting him leave believing that she didn’t want to marry him. Who knew what would happen to him out there in the cold, dangerous forests before she could correct things? And it had all been for naught; her mother had still died believing that Eva was betraying her faith.

  On a cold winter’s day a year earlier, when Rémy had told her he wanted to do more to fight back, Eva hadn’t really understood. Weren’t they already resisting with their forgery? Someone has to take the fight to the Germans, Eva, he had said. No one is coming to save us. His words had frightened her, but that was before she had lost her mother. It was before her life had imploded because of her own mistakes.

  It was before the Germans had taken everything.

  It didn’t matter if she lived, and that’s why she decided to head for the farmhouse where she knew Joseph sometimes stayed. She would be careful that no one followed her, but she had to do something. She had to take the fight to the monsters who had stolen her family from her. She had spent the war passively helping people, but that was no longer enough. She wanted blood, and she would get down on her knees to beg Joseph to help her if she had to. He could vouch for her, send her to the fighters in the forest, tell them that she would do anything they asked.

  The bus ride back to Aurignon and the long walk toward the outskirts of town did nothing to heal the gaping wound in Eva’s heart, and by the time she walked up the road to the farmhouse, her boots crunching over eight inches of snow, she was even angrier than she had been when she left the jail. She had taken a roundabout route here, weaving through town, ducking into an abandoned storefront to shed her extra layer of clothing and her cane, and wrapping her scarf more tightly as a shield against the wind, which grew more vicious as she left the shelter of Aurignon’s small town square. She looked once more over her shoulder as she approached the front door of the main house, but she was well and truly alone.

  She knocked on the door, but there was no answer, even when she called out. The door was locked tight, and when she crept around back and peered in the one window whose curtain hadn’t been pulled tight, the inside of the house looked dark, abandoned. A cobweb glistened just inside the pane.

  It appeared the farmers who lived here were gone, perhaps arrested by the Germans, too. But was Joseph still camped out in the barn, as he had been before? It seemed unlikely, but she knew nowhere else to go. Panic coursing through her, Eva trudged through the snow to the lopsided old building. Inside, it smelled like musty hay and stale milk. “Hello?” Eva called out, just in case Joseph had heard her approach and was hiding. “It’s me! Eva! Please, I need your help!”

  Something stirred overhead, and Eva looked up. “Joseph?” she called out. “Please! Are you here?”

  Her question was greeted with silence, and at last, she felt her shoulders slump in defeat. The noise she had heard had probably been a mouse or another lucky creature who had found refuge here from the harsh winter when the humans had fled. “Please?” she called out once more, but she already knew her plea was in vain. Joseph was long gone, and with him, any hope that she could join the armed resistance.

  Eva turned to go, tears coursing down her face
once again. Everything felt hopeless, impossible.

  But then, just as she was about to walk out the door of the barn into the frigid afternoon, she heard a whisper behind her.

  She turned, staring into the darkness. Had she imagined it? Was she so desperate that she was hearing things?

  “Eva.” There it was again, weak but undeniable. The voice was coming from the loft above her head. Someone was there.

  “Joseph?” she called out as she hastily ascended the narrow ladder against the back wall. The second she emerged into the haystacks above, though, she had to stifle a scream. Several bales of hay were splashed with crimson, and there were dark stains on the wooden floor. The loft smelled of iron, and in the corner lay Geneviève, slumped awkwardly to the right, her faded blue cotton dress soaked with blood. There was a hole, dark and gaping, where her stomach should have been.

  “Oh my God, Geneviève!” Eva cried out, moving quickly to her side and smoothing her blood-matted dark hair back from her pale face.

  “Eva,” Geneviève whispered. Her eyelashes fluttered; she was barely conscious. She stared at Eva without focusing. “Is it really you?”

  “Yes, Geneviève! What in the world happened?”

  Geneviève coughed, and a few drops of blood bubbled from the side of her mouth. “Gérard,” she whispered.

  Eva looked around. “He went for help?”

  “No, Eva.” She coughed again, blood trickling down her chin. “It was him.”

  “What?”

  “He—he killed me.”

  Surely Geneviève was talking nonsense. “No, Geneviève. You’re still alive.”

  Geneviève’s laugh was weak and bitter. “I’m dying, Eva.”

  “I’ll get help.”

  “It’s too late.” She coughed again and spit up another mouthful of blood. “Gérard is the traitor, Eva. The one who betrayed all of us.”