The Book of Lost Names

by Kristin Harmel

  * * *

  Eva’s train pulled into Lyon just past six thirty, and as she stepped onto the platform, carrying the small hand valise she had hastily packed, a feeling of dread swept over her. She was farther east now than she’d ever been. It was closer to freedom, certainly, but it was also closer to Germany. Was she fleeing to the embrace of safety? Or walking straight into danger? Either way, it was too late to turn back. There were children relying on her.

  By six fifty, she was standing just to the left of the main entrance, waiting for the children and the man she would escape to Switzerland with. As she tried to appear nonchalant and unworried, she fretted about the meeting. Would anyone be convinced that she was married to this man she’d never met? That she was the mother to children she had never seen? She recited their names in her head over and over. My husband, André. My children, Georges, Maurice, Didier, and Jacqueline. She could almost imagine the children, since she had created their identity documents herself: The little girl, born in 1939, was really named Eliane. The boys were Joel, Raoul, and Daniel, born in 1935, 1936, and 1940. Their false papers were tucked safely into the lining of her coat, halfway up the sleeve in a sewn-in, hidden pocket. What of the man, though? Who was he? She knew nothing of him but his false name.

  Seven o’clock came and went, and by seven fifteen, Eva was feeling conspicuous—and worried. Where were they? Had a German official been unconvinced by their temporary papers? Night had fallen thick and dark on Lyon, and as she peered out at the blackness, she wondered what she was supposed to do if they didn’t arrive. If she returned here the following day she would look suspicious. And surely she shouldn’t proceed to Annecy without them.

  It was nearly seven thirty when she saw a dark-haired boy emerge from the station, then another; they appeared to be the right ages for the children traveling as seven-year-old Maurice and eight-year-old Georges. A few seconds later, a boy of about three appeared behind them; if she was right about who they were, he must be Didier. She started forward, hoping that her smile looked motherly rather than relieved, but she stopped short as she saw the final child—the girl traveling as four-year-old Jacqueline—emerge, clutching the hand of a man.

  The man’s face was turned away as he surveyed the small crowd outside the station, but Eva recognized him instantly. The curve of his shoulders, the tapering of his waist, even his confident gait were nearly as familiar to her as her own. She stopped breathing for a few seconds, and as he turned and looked at her, his eyes widened, and time seemed to slow. It was Rémy, alive and healthy and here. And all at once, Eva believed in miracles once again.

  His eyes never left hers as he approached, and though she knew she was supposed to be bending to casually greet the children with hugs and kisses, she couldn’t look away.

  “It’s you,” he said softly when finally he was at her side.

  “It’s you,” she breathed, and then his lips were on hers, and he was kissing her in a way that made her forget the world around them for a few precious seconds. It was just the two of them until suddenly, a gasp from the little girl holding Rémy’s hand jolted them out of the moment.

  “What is it, Jacqueline?” Rémy asked, and the second his lips were no longer on Eva’s, he was already too far away. “Are you all right, dear? Your maman and I are right here.”

  As he bent to the little girl, Eva’s heart lurched, for it was a fleeting glimpse of a future she hadn’t dared imagine, a future in which she and Rémy were Maman and Papa to a little girl like Jacqueline, or a little boy like Didier. Just as quickly, she reminded herself of her own mother’s words that morning: You’d rather be a part of this false family you’ve let yourself believe in. She swallowed her guilt and followed the little girl’s eyes to the uniformed German soldier who had just stepped out of the station for a smoke.

  “Remember, Jacqueline,” Rémy said, smoothly, gently, his tone betraying none of the trepidation he must have felt. “There’s no need to fear the men in uniform. They’re our friends.”

  Just a few feet away, the soldier struggled to light a match in the icy breeze. With an easy smile, Rémy let go of the little girl, who instantly clutched Eva’s hand, and he crossed to the soldier, pulling a book of matches from his overcoat pocket. He struck one and cupped his hand around it while the soldier lit his cigarette.

  The German, blond with a baby face, nodded at Rémy and then at Eva. “Danke,” he said, hastily adding, “Or, er, merci,” with an apologetic smile.

  Rémy stepped back and slung an arm around Eva’s shoulder, as if he’d done it a thousand times before. “De rien,” he said.

  The soldier moved on, and Eva exhaled. “You are the one who made them their false papers?” she whispered to Rémy, nodding to the children.

  “Yes, but mine were never as good as yours.” She could feel his smile against her cheek as she whispered into his ear. “I admit it now. So I am glad you are here with your documents.” He paused and added, “Well, actually, I am simply glad you are here.”

  “I am, too,” she whispered, and when he turned back to her, his lips brushed hers again, and she wished that they could stay in the moment forever. But she knew they had to move inside, to get the children off the street, to feed them and calm them before the overnight ride ahead. “Come, my loves,” she said, turning from Rémy to smile at the children. “Let’s go find a seat, shall we?”

  “I’ll be right there to join you,” Rémy said softly. “I must get rid of the children’s papers first.”

  “How will you do that?”

  His familiar smile warmed her heart. “There’s nearly always a small fire burning inside the stationmaster’s office, which the guards use to warm themselves. They leave the office unoccupied—and unlocked—most of the time. It should take just a moment to donate a bit of extra fuel.”

  Five minutes later, Rémy found them near track two, and the makeshift family huddled together, trying to get warm. The night was icy, and outside the office, the station provided no heat, so when they spoke, their words lingered in the air, puffs of white in the darkness. “What are you doing here?” Eva whispered once the children were sharing the loaf of bread and hunk of cheese Rémy produced from a coat pocket.

  “I could ask the same of you.” His breath was warm on her ear, and she longed to lean into him, to close her eyes, to pretend that they were two lovers on their way somewhere. But she had to keep a lookout for German soldiers or suspicious French gendarmes.

  “Our cell was blown,” she murmured, and as he nodded, she realized that of course he’d already known. “Père Clément asked me to help escort some children—and then to remain in Switzerland.” Even saying the words felt wrong, like she was abandoning her post, discarding the cause she had worked so hard for.

  Relief swept across Rémy’s features and he pulled her closer. “Thank God. They finally listened to me.”

  “You were the one who suggested I go? But, Rémy, I belong here. In France. Working.”

  “No, you belong somewhere safe.” When he turned to her, there were tears in his eyes, and she had to stop herself from leaning in to kiss him. “You deserve to grow old and have children and grandchildren and a happy life. That won’t happen if you stay.”

  “What about you?”

  He hesitated. “I have to remain here, Eva. But I can’t do the things I need to do until I know you’re safe.”

  “Don’t you see, Rémy? I feel the same. I can’t just walk away now.”

  “You must. You live in plain sight, Eva. Things for me are different. I live in the woods with other people finding ways to undermine the Germans.”

  “I could live there, too,” she said in a small voice. “Surely they’ll still need false documents…”

  He touched her face. “We move every few days, and we’re ready to run at a moment’s notice. There would be no way to keep you and your supplies out there with us. Besides, Eva, the fight is changing. It’s no longer about peaceful resistance, smuggling people out
. We’re taking the battle right to the Germans now.”

  “Rémy—”

  “Once these children are out safely, the next phase begins for us.” He hesitated, and in a voice even lower than a whisper, he added, “We’ve amassed weapons, Eva. False papers won’t matter anymore.”

  She covered her mouth. “It will be so dangerous.”

  “It’s the only way. It’s about saving France now, maybe even the world. If we can turn the Germans back, reverse the tide, we can preserve humanity.”

  She shook her head. “But the Allied army is coming, isn’t it? Père Clément says—”

  “The Germans know they’re coming,” Rémy said, interrupting her. “They don’t know we’re ready to fight, too. We’ll weaken them first, attack them where it hurts. And when the Allies finally arrive, the Germans won’t know what to do.” When he pulled away from her, his eyes were alight, and she realized he was actually looking forward to the opportunity to fight.

  “Please,” she whispered. “Please stay in Switzerland with me. What if you lose your life, Rémy?”

  He turned away. “If I die for France, it won’t be a life lost. It will be a country saved. My only regret will be that it will cost me the chance for a future with you.”

  A sob rose in Eva’s throat, and she managed to stifle it just as a uniformed French gendarme approached.

  “Papers,” he barked, and Eva flashed him what she hoped was a pleasant smile as she extracted her false documents, and those of the children, from her handbag, where she had slipped them moments earlier after removing them from her sleeve. Rémy handed his papers over, too, and the policeman scrutinized them with a frown, flipping from one set to the next.

  “Everything should be in order,” Rémy said after a long minute had passed and the man still hadn’t spoken. Beside her, Eva could feel little Jacqueline trembling.

  “Perhaps,” the man in uniform said, looking up at Rémy with a hard stare. He made no move to return their papers. “But you see, this is a popular route for smugglers.”

  “Smugglers?” Rémy’s laugh of disbelief was convincing. “Sir, we are just traveling with our children. You suspect them of smuggling what? Money? Guns?”

  Eva bit back a gasp; was Rémy provoking the man on purpose?

  The man glanced from Rémy to the children, his gaze finally settling on Eva. “As I’m sure you know, people are being smuggled. How do I know these children are yours?”

  “How could you suggest such a thing?” Eva feigned indignation. “I birthed them all myself. We are simply going to visit my mother, who lives in Annecy. We will return in two days’ time.”

  He looked hard at her and then turned to the oldest boy with a smirk. “You, there. Georges, is it? These are your parents? What are their names, then?”

  The boy’s face turned red, and he gaped at the officer. Eva was just about to cut in, to blurt out their false names, but she was beaten to the punch by four-year-old Jacqueline.

  “My maman is Lucie Besson, and my papa is André Besson,” she said calmly, her eyes wide. “You see them just here. And who are you? My parents told me that German officers aren’t frightening, that they are our friends, but you, you are not a German.”

  The man gaped at her and then turned to Rémy. “You told your daughter here that she should trust the Germans?”

  Rémy shrugged while Eva tried not to exhale audibly. The man had called Jacqueline their daughter, which meant he believed them.

  “Well,” the gendarme said. “So then you are not smugglers, I see. You are merely fools.”

  He thrust the papers at them and walked away, shaking his head. Rémy and Eva waited until he was out of sight around the corner before bending simultaneously to the little girl. “How did you know to say that?” Eva asked. “You saved us.”

  The girl smiled. “I had two older brothers who taught me that when telling a fib, to widen your eyes to sell the act.” Then her smile faltered, and as she hung her head, she added in a whisper, “They were taken with my real maman and papa.”

  Eva embraced the girl, wishing she could take away the pain that had already been inflicted. But it was too late. Loss would forever be etched on the child like a tattoo; it might fade over time, but it would never be erased.

  * * *

  Just before midnight, the train to Annecy pulled into the station, and with their heads down, Rémy and Eva led their new “family” aboard. They had spent the past few hours watching over the children as they slept and whispering to each other about the things that had happened over their time apart. Eva wanted to savor every moment, but after the children were settled into seats and the train had pulled into the darkness of the French countryside, exhaustion tugged at her. She hadn’t slept in two days, and here, with Rémy at her side, she felt safer than she’d felt in months.

  “Get some rest,” he whispered as the children dozed nearby. “I’ll keep the first watch, and I’ll wake you if anyone comes to check our papers.”

  She stifled a yawn. “You must be very tired, too.”

  He touched her cheek gently. “Eva, it will be a gift to watch you sleep.”

  And so she dozed on his shoulder for a few hours, and after a German policeman gave their documents a bored, cursory check, she insisted on Rémy taking a turn. He leaned into her, and she stroked his hair, marveling at the miracle that had brought them back together. But how long would it be until they were separated again?

  At just past six in the morning, Eva roused Rémy, and together they woke the children. The train pulled into the small station in Annecy at six thirty, and they quickly made their way down a narrow lane outside the station doors to a Protestant church nearby. It was a boxy brick building with a large cross out front. Inside, the pews were made of dark, smooth wood, and a simple metal cross shone down from above the altar.

  “Stay here with the children,” Rémy whispered to Eva. “If anyone enters, pretend you’re praying. The pastor here is named Chapal. He’ll vouch for you.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “To see a priest.”

  Eva blinked at him. “A priest?”

  “Here in Annecy, the Protestants and Catholics work together to get people like us out. The priest will tell me whether the driver of this morning’s bus to Collonges-sous-Salève is a friend or a foe. If he’s not one of us, we stay here for the night. If he is, be ready to move.”

  “You’ve done this many times.” She was seeing a whole new side to Rémy.

  Rémy nodded. “Though never with someone I care so much about. Everything must be perfect.” He was gone before she could reply.

  The children sat silently beside her, the two older boys staring at the cross, Georges tapping a rapid rhythm on his knee, and Jacqueline twirling tangles in her hair. Eva could feel the unease rolling from them in waves. “It’s going to be all right,” she said in a low voice, leaning toward them. “He’ll be back soon. He knows what to do.”

  “How do you know?” the second oldest, Maurice, asked.

  “I just do. He’s done this before. I trust him with my life.”

  “Is he really your husband?” asked Jacqueline.

  There was suddenly a lump in her throat so hard she couldn’t speak for a second. “No. No, he’s not. But we must pretend.”

  “He’s not pretending, though,” said Georges. “He really loves you. You can tell.”

  Eva blinked at him. “We have known each other for a long time.”

  “Nah, it is more than that. He looks at you when you’re not watching him. It is exactly the way Herbert Marshall stares at Claudette Colbert in Zaza.”

  Eva could feel herself blushing. “And what exactly are you doing watching an American film about a love affair?”

  She meant to tease him, but the boy looked instantly crestfallen. “My papa used to love films. He took me with him whenever he could afford the movie theater near our apartment in Paris.” He hesitated and added in a voice so low it was barely audible, �
��Papa isn’t here anymore. No more movies.”

  “I’m so sorry.” It was all Eva could think to say.

  The boy sniffled and then flashed a smile that was clearly false. “And anyhow, you look at him the way Claudette Colbert looks at Herbert Marshall, too. You’re Zaza and he’s Dufresne.”

  Eva had just opened her mouth to reply when the door to the church opened and Rémy appeared, backlit by daylight. “Come.” He beckoned to Eva and the children. “The bus leaves early today. There’s no time to lose.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Forty-five minutes later, Rémy held Eva’s hand as he helped her and the children onto a rickety bus headed toward Geneva. From the way Rémy and the driver nodded to each other, Eva understood that they were already acquainted.

  As the bus rolled north, Eva could feel Rémy’s eyes on her as she gazed out the right window at the glistening, soaring Alps. Though she’d spent the past year and a half in Aurignon, with mountains in the distance, there was nothing quite like being in their shadow; they seemed to stretch straight up, their snow-dusted peaks like something out a fairy tale. If Eva hadn’t been terrified about their journey and worried about the children, the view would have taken her breath away.

  They stopped in Épagny, Allonzier-la-Caille, Cruseilles, Copponex, Beaumont, Neydens, and Archamps before finally pulling into Collonges-sous-Salève, where the driver stopped abruptly at the top of a hill rather than in the city center. Rémy beckoned to Eva, and as they disembarked with the children, the driver nodded once more before pulling away. “Here we are,” Rémy said cheerfully, loud enough to be overheard, though there appeared to be no one else out and about in the frigid weather. “Your mother’s town. Let’s go see her friend, the priest, before we visit with her, shall we?”