The Book of Lost Names by Kristin Harmel

Author:Kristin Harmel [Kristin Harmel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Gallery Books
Published: 2020-07-21T00:00:00+00:00

* * *

Eva was working alone the next afternoon when Père Clément appeared in the doorway of the small library. “How’s the work coming?” he asked.

“The new papers are helping.” Eva gestured with a sigh to the thick stack of documents she’d already made it through. “I—I wouldn’t be able to do this without Rémy, you know.”

“I’d like him to stay, too,” Père Clément said. “But the underground may need him elsewhere. He has proven himself to be a smart courier, and he could be useful to them in other ways, too.”

“He’s useful here. I can’t do this alone.”

Père Clément sighed. “They would likely send someone in his place to do the work with you.”

Eva blinked at him in disbelief. How could he think that anyone could fill Rémy’s shoes? “Père Clément—” she began.

“The work you’re doing here is so very important, Eva. You know that, don’t you?”

She hung her head. “Yes, but I—”

“Eva,” he interrupted, “can you spare an hour or so? I’d like to show you something.”

She hesitated and nodded. Without another word, he led her out of the tiny library into the church, and then out the door into the afternoon sunshine.

In silence, they walked through the center of town. Icicles hung from eaves, sparkling in the clear light, and pristine snow caked the clay roofs. Père Clément nodded politely at a pair of Nazi soldiers leaning against the side of a building, and Eva averted her eyes. There had been more of them lately, their uniforms stiff, their gazes menacing. They stuck out in the small town, where newcomers—even those without German uniforms—were something to be stared at.

“Can I ask you something?” Eva said as they made their way away from the square down the quiet rue Girault.

“Anything, Eva.”

“Do you think I’m…” She trailed off, then took a deep breath. “Do you think I’m betraying my religion? My parents?”

He looked at her in surprise, and they both paused in their conversation to wave to Monsieur Deniaud, who was standing outside his butcher shop, deep in conversation with a uniformed gendarme Eva had seen around town. Monsieur Deniaud looked distracted as he waved back, and the gendarme didn’t acknowledge them.

“Eva, of course I don’t think that,” Père Clément said as they ducked down a dark, narrow alleyway between two stone apartment buildings. “Why do you ask?”

Eva was embarrassed to feel tears in her eyes. “My mother,” was all she managed to say.

“Oh, Eva.” Père Clément’s eyes were sad as he looked down at her again. A mangy cat whose ribs stood in sharp relief against his patchy fur slunk out from a shadowy doorway, darting behind a snow-caked bicycle propped against a wall, and Eva felt a surge of sadness for the animal. He’d starve out here, or freeze, if someone didn’t catch him first.

“Maybe she’s right,” Eva murmured. “I don’t pray like she does, and I know I should. The traditions have always meant more to my parents than they do to me, and I think I should be ashamed of that, especially now.

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