The Book of Lost Names

by Kristin Harmel

  “Another priest?” Eva murmured as they began trudging through freshly fallen, ankle-deep snow toward a small stone cottage at the end of the lane. Smoke snaked skyward from the slightly tilted brick chimney.

  “God’s hand is everywhere,” Rémy replied, his voice soft, and he gave the children another encouraging smile as they approached the house.

  The door opened before they got there, revealing a short, portly man in a long, dark priest’s robe. He was bald, his complexion ruddy, his eyes clear and blue. “Come in, come in,” he said, gesturing urgently toward them. “Before someone sees.”

  Rémy and Eva hustled the children inside, and the man closed the door behind them with a thud.

  “Eva, this is le Père Bouyssonie. Père Bouyssonie, this is Eva.”

  The priest’s eyebrows shot up. “Ah. Eva. I have heard much about you.” Eva glanced at Rémy, who was suddenly studying the floor intently. The priest chuckled. “And these, I assume, are the four children in your care?”

  Eva nodded. “Yes. Georges, Maurice, Jacqueline, and Didier.”

  The priest bent until he was at eye level with the little girl. He looked at each of them, one by one. “It is wonderful to meet you. I want to remind you that God knows who you are. He always has and always will. He sees your hearts, even in the darkness.”

  The three boys looked perplexed, but the little girl was nodding like she understood exactly what he meant.

  “Thanks, as always, for having us, Père Bouyssonie,” Rémy said. “Is everything looking good for the crossing?”

  “Yes, yes. Let’s get your little family to the attic, shall we? Then I can brief you on today’s movements from the border guards.” He smiled at Eva. “I’m sorry that our accommodations aren’t more comfortable, but the attic is a quiet and safe place to rest for the day. And best of all, there’s a little window that allows you to look out to the north. You can see Switzerland not five hundred meters from here, just across the barbed wire fence.”

  He led them up a rickety, pull-down ladder to a small space overhead that had already been stocked with blankets and pillows. A pitcher of water rested on a small table beside several glasses, a loaf of bread, and a small jar of preserves. “It’s not much,” Père Bouyssonie said with an apologetic shrug. “With any luck, though, you won’t be here for long.” He gestured to the window. “Look, Eva. Just beyond the trees.”

  Eva moved to the window, and her breath caught in her throat. Just beyond the priest’s yard, across a broad field, a barbed wire fence stretched as far as the eye could see. On the Swiss side, tall, slender skeletons of poplar trees reached for the winter sky, and beyond them, Swiss Army sentries with long, heavy wool coats and thick black boots walked along the border, rifles slung over their shoulders. She could feel Rémy’s breath on her cheek as he crouched beside her.

  “That’s freedom, Eva,” he whispered. “So close you can taste it.”

  As she turned to search his familiar green-flecked hazel eyes, she felt dazed. “But the barbed wire… The guards…”

  “Don’t worry.” He put his arm around her shoulders and squeezed gently. “There’s a way in. We’ll go tonight just past nine, as long as the guards are on a normal patrol. In the meantime, you and the children should get some rest.”

  “What about you?”

  He smiled slightly. “I slept enough on the train.” He leaned in and added in a whisper, “I knew I was safe with you beside me.”

  “Come,” the priest said, giving Eva a gentle smile as he beckoned to Rémy. “There’s much to be done.” To Eva he said, “See if you and the children can eat a bit and sleep. You’ll need your energy. We’ll be back after nightfall.”

  Rémy kissed Eva on the cheek and then followed the priest down the ladder, which was then pushed back into the attic floor, leaving the Eva and her four charges in darkness lit only by the small window to freedom.

  “Will we be all right?” asked Jacqueline, coming to sit beside Eva.

  “Yes, I feel sure of it.” And for the first time since leaving Aurignon, Eva realized she believed it. Refuge was within sight, and God willing, she’d be able to help give these children a life, a future. But what about her? What about Rémy? How could she let him go back into the fight so soon after she’d found him again? She shook the questions away and put an arm around the little girl. “Come, let’s have a bit to eat, shall we?”

  The children murmured excitedly to each other while they ate their bread and preserves, and they took turns peeking out the window at Switzerland. After the small meal, Eva kept watch while the children snuggled under the blankets and fell asleep. Lulled by the silence and the warmth, she eventually drifted off, too. She awoke with a start sometime later to find Rémy beside her, gazing at her with tears in his eyes. He quickly looked away.

  “How long have you been there?” Eva asked. Darkness had fallen outside, and the only illumination in the attic was from the faint moonlight spilling in through the window. Around them, the children were still asleep, one of the boys snoring lightly.

  “Not long,” Rémy said, his voice husky.

  “What were you thinking about?”

  He didn’t answer right away. “You,” he said at last. “Us. The past. The future.”

  But Rémy would need to stay alive if they were to have any sort of future together. He knew that as well as she did, so she bit her tongue before she could remind him. “Where do you want to go after the war?” she asked instead.

  “Eva, I’ll go wherever you are.” His voice caught on the last word, and he cleared his throat. “Enough of that. It’s time to move. The patrols on this side of the border are working at regular intervals, so the crossing should be smooth.”

  “Rémy—” Eva began. There was so much to say. She wanted to tell him she loved him, that she couldn’t imagine a life without him, but somehow the words wouldn’t come.

  “It’s all right,” he said after a moment. He leaned in and kissed her lightly on the lips. “I know, Eva. I—I feel it, too.”

  “What if I never see you again?”

  “You will, Eva. I promise.”

  There were footsteps on the ladder then, and Père Bouyssonie’s head appeared behind them. “It’s time,” he said. “Let’s get the children ready.”

  Eva nodded and forced herself to pull away from Rémy. The feelings she’d been nursing for months, the things she didn’t have the courage to say, had no place here, not in this moment. She had only one job, and that was to see to it that four young, innocent lives were saved. And as Père Clément might have reminded her, the rest was in God’s hands.

  Twenty minutes later, the children were awake and bundled back into their fraying woolen coats. Père Bouyssonie hunched in the attic facing the little group while Rémy sat beside Eva, his fingers laced with hers.

  “I’ll be praying for you,” the priest said, looking at each of the children one by one, and then at Eva and Rémy. “You must be brave, and you must believe that God is watching you. I’ve seen many people make this crossing into Switzerland, and I know you’ll make it safely, too.” He glanced once more at Eva and added, “God will be with you. Always.”

  Eva nodded, and Rémy squeezed her hand, and then they were in motion, heading down the ladder into the main room of the priest’s cottage. They took turns warming themselves by the stone fireplace while Rémy quickly briefed them.

  “The Germans patrol the border here, but their routine is predictable, and there are gaps in it,” he said quickly, his eyes on Eva most of the time. “There are two patrols, going in opposite directions, along the road about two hundred meters from the front door. The only way to avoid them is to move to the road after the first German patrol has passed and to wait out the second; otherwise, there’s not enough time before the first patrol comes back around again. Père Bouyssonie will walk down to the road, and as soon as the first patrol has gone by, he’ll run back and give us the sign. Together, we’ll head for the road and wait in
a ditch beyond until the second patrol has passed. Then you’ll all need to follow me as quickly as possible. All right?”

  Eva and the children nodded their assent as Rémy continued. “Once we’re over the border, run toward the first Swiss soldier you see. They will bring you to safety. But be absolutely sure that the soldier is Swiss, not German. The easiest way to tell is that the Swiss overcoats are a much darker gray, and their helmets look a bit like turtles. The Germans wear higher boots. If you see a German soldier, with big black boots to his knees, run in the other direction, as fast as you can. Do you understand?”

  One by one, the children nodded, and finally, Rémy’s eyes rested on Eva. “Once you’re in Switzerland, you must stay there until the war is over. You will be safe there. You won’t need to be frightened anymore.” The words were for all of them, but Eva heard them as an admonishment intended for her. She would be a fool, he was saying, to leave the warm embrace of neutrality to return to France. “I will come find you as soon as I can,” he said, and this time, there was no doubt that the words were for Eva. She swallowed hard and nodded. Still, though, she couldn’t bring herself to imagine that in just a few minutes, they’d be parting once more, that she might never see him again.

  “I’m off, then,” the priest said. “Be waiting for my sign. Good luck to all of you. May God bless you.” And then he was gone, leaving the children alone with Rémy and Eva. The fire crackled in the space where their words should have been, and after a few minutes, Rémy beckoned to the children. “Come,” he said. “We will wait just outside Père Bouyssonie’s door. Be ready to run when he gives us the sign.”

  “I’m frightened,” whispered Jacqueline.

  Rémy bent to her, his tone firm. “We will be right here. We will keep you safe until you cross the border. Once you’re in Switzerland, you’re already free. You’ll each be running with just one other child to reduce the chance of exposure, and your mother here will follow behind. Go to the first Swiss guard you see, and tell him you need help.”

  The girl nodded, and while she didn’t look entirely reassured, she allowed Eva to take her hand and lead her out the door with the others. Once they were on the priest’s front step, they were engulfed in thick darkness, and the icy air bit at their faces, though the wind, at least, had subsided.

  “I can’t see a thing,” Eva whispered to Rémy, and he reached for her free hand.

  “Your eyes will adjust,” he murmured. “Until then, remember, I’m right here.”

  He was right; by the time the priest appeared at the top of the lane and gave them a wave, Eva could make out shapes in the blackness, and as they started toward the border at a jog, slow enough that the children could all keep up, a few lights up ahead, just past the barbed wire, lit the way.

  They passed the priest, who didn’t say a word as they slipped past him, and when they reached the paved road, Rémy whispered, “Get down in that ditch. You’ll hear soldiers passing in just a moment. Hold your breath. I’ll tell you when it’s safe to go.”

  Heart hammering, Eva did as he said, helping the children flatten themselves against the cold earth in a shallow trench that lay just beside the road. When the little girl began to whimper, Eva soothed her by holding her close. The girl’s soft crying subsided just as the thud of boots on the gravel and snow sounded nearby.

  The six of them lay still and soundless as the footsteps approached, loud and heavy in the still night. There was the sound of laughter, a few words in German, and then more laughter as the sound of the soldiers faded in the other direction. Finally, the night was silent again, and Rémy whispered, “It is time.”

  Together, he and Eva helped the children up. “Quietly, now,” Rémy reminded them, and they set off toward the barbed wire, moving as silently as they could. When they reached the fence, just a few inches of metal separated them from Switzerland, but suddenly, Eva realized she couldn’t see a way across.

  “How…?” she asked, but Rémy was already a few steps ahead of them, confidently lifting the fence high enough that each of them could crawl beneath.

  “We cut it long ago,” he explained in a whisper. “It’s a miracle they haven’t noticed yet.” And then, to the children, he added, “Go. Be safe and free.”

  The oldest boy, Georges, was the first to wriggle across the border. As Didier started to cross, Eva watched in awe as Georges helped him beneath the wire, picked him up, and began to run. The third boy, Maurice, crossed, too, and then waited until Jacqueline had squirmed through. “I’ve got her,” he whispered to Eva and Rémy. “Thank you for everything.” And then the two of them were off, two tiny figures in a black night, running toward the faraway lights of a Swiss village.

  “It’s time for you to go, too,” Rémy said, squeezing Eva’s hand tightly. “Quickly, before the children attract German attention on our side of the border.”

  Eva turned to him. A moment earlier, she had been ready to follow the children, despite the feeling of crushing loss that had begun to sweep through her. Now she knew as clearly as she knew her own heart that she wouldn’t be going to Switzerland tonight. “I cannot.”

  “Eva, you must.” Rémy’s face was just inches from hers, his eyes dark and urgent in the deep night. “This is your chance.”

  “I know.” And then, slowly, softly, she kissed him, and when he didn’t pull away, she knew he understood. She couldn’t leave, and he couldn’t let her, even if they both knew it was the right thing for her to go.

  “Are you certain?” Rémy asked when Eva finally pulled away, breathless.

  “Yes.”

  “Then we must move now. I stay in a safe house on the edge of town before returning to the woods around Aurignon.”

  “You don’t go back to the priest’s house?”

  “It’s too dangerous. Come on.” He grabbed her hand, and after one last look into Switzerland, where she prayed the children would find their way to safety, she followed, back into the darkness of France.

  * * *

  The safe house was a tiny stone cottage on the edge of the town, a brisk, fifteen-minute walk from the place where the sliced barbed wire had provided a chance at life. As they hurried along in silence, Rémy clasping her hand tightly, Eva allowed the weight of that to settle upon her. Tonight had shown her the future that all her forgery work had made possible.

  Rémy used a key to open the door to the safe house, which was dark and cold inside. The moment he had closed the door, thrusting them into blackness, he pulled her toward him. Without another second’s hesitation, his lips were on hers, and his hands were on her face, and then tangled in her hair, and then making their way down the curves of her body. “You shouldn’t have stayed,” he said between hungry kisses. “You shouldn’t be here.”

  “But—”

  “I’m so glad you did, Eva,” Rémy said, his lips barely leaving hers as he pulled her back. “I love you.”

  It was the first time he had said those words to her, and it broke her heart wide open. “I love you, too,” she murmured.

  His hands were cold as he cupped her face, then ran both thumbs gently down to the hollow beneath her neck. She shivered as his lips found hers again.

  “You’re freezing,” he said, pulling away. “Let me build a fire.”

  “I don’t want to let you go,” she protested.

  “But I want to look into your eyes, Eva. Let me make us some light. I promise, I’m not going anywhere. There should be some food in the kitchen. Père Bouyssonie usually arranges for something.”

  Eva didn’t want to leave Rémy’s side, but he was right; it was frigid, and she could barely see him in the dark. She took her boots off and headed for the kitchen in search of something to eat while Rémy rearranged logs in the stone fireplace. On the counter beside a one-burner stove sat a bottle of red wine, a hunk of bread, and a large wedge of cheese, along with a handwritten note. God is with you, it said, and gazing at the relatively large feast before her, she understood that Père Bouyssoni
e had known, even before she did, that she would likely return with Rémy tonight. The note, she hoped, was his blessing.

  She returned to the main room and found Rémy prodding a burgeoning fire, his coat slung over the back of a chair. He turned and smiled as she held up the bottle of wine in one hand, the bread and cheese in the other. “Père Bouyssonie is looking out for us, I see,” he said.

  “You don’t think he’d frown upon us spending the night together?” Eva asked. The man was, after all, a priest.

  “I think he understands what love looks like,” Rémy answered. He put down the iron stoker and crossed to her, taking the wine and the food and setting them down on the small wooden table in the corner. Then, as the fire began to crackle and warm the room, he slipped her coat from her shoulders and gently tugged her dress over her head, leaving her standing before him in her underclothes. He pulled back to stare at her for a second, his eyes shimmering, before he pressed his lips to hers again. This time, his kiss was full of need, and she responded, tugging at his belt, unbuttoning his shirt.

  They made love quickly, urgently, the sharp pain of her first time erased immediately in a flood of sensation—the feel of Rémy’s skin against hers, the scent of wood smoke in the air, the heat of their breath in the cold. Then, bundled in blankets and huddled by the fire, they drank the bottle of wine and ravenously attacked the food before making love once more. This time, Rémy’s kisses were slower, deeper, and they took their time exploring each other’s bodies. When it was over, she lay sweaty and smiling against his bare chest, and he kissed the top of her head. “You must go tomorrow, Eva,” he murmured. “You must cross into Switzerland. I can’t stand the thought of anything happening to you.”

  “Can’t I stay with you?” she asked, sighing as he stroked her hair, his fingers weaving through the tangles they’d made.

  “You know you can’t, sweet Eva. But after the war, I’ll come for you.”

  “How will you find me?”

  He was silent for a long time, but his hands never stopped moving, and that was a comfort. “Name a place that’s special to you.”