Eva didn’t sleep at all after leaving the church with her newly forged identity card identifying her as Marie Charpentier. Before dawn, while her mother slept peacefully, she carefully forged travel permits for her father and herself, so they would be able to journey to Aurignon after she freed him from Drancy. Though her stomach swam with doubt, she left to track down Père Clément before her mother awoke. But the church was empty and silent, and he was nowhere to be found. Nor was Madame Barbier around to confront. Though the dark-haired man had mentioned the ten o’clock bus, Eva had seen an eight o’clock route on the schedule posted in the town square, too. Eager to get to Paris as soon as possible, Eva left to catch it after awakening her mother and telling her what had happened in the church the night before.

“It still does not mean that you owe these people anything,” her mother muttered.

“Mamusia, if they help me save Tatu?, I owe them everything.”

Mamusia sighed. “Just bring him back safely, moje serduszko. I’m counting on you.”

Hours later in Clermont-Ferrand, her mother’s words were still running through her head as she presented her documents to a bored-looking French policeman and stepped aboard a train bound for Paris. Just bring him back safely… I’m counting on you. It felt as if the weight of the world was resting on her shoulders. As the train slowly chugged away, taking her north, deeper into a land saturated with Germans, Eva closed her eyes and placed her forehead against the cool window. “Please, God,” she murmured, “look after my mother.”

The first leg of the journey was uneventful, and Eva might have dozed off if not for the adrenaline coursing through her veins. Vineyards, windmills, and tiny villages raced past outside the glass, and Eva did her best to ignore the other passengers and the German soldiers who walked periodically up and down the aisles of the train.

They had just passed Saint-Germain-des-Fossés, north of Vichy, when a man cleared his throat loudly beside her seat. Eva ignored him, watching the winding water of a narrow stream as it ran past a small farm dotted with sheep, but when he said, “Fr?ulein? Your papers?” in an unmistakably German accent, she had no choice but to look up.

She found a light-haired man—a boy, really—in a German uniform scowling at her. He looked younger than she by several years, but he was standing ramrod straight, as if drawing himself up to his full height would make him appear more threatening. She wanted to tell him that the Nazi insignia on his chest made him frightening enough without help from exaggerated posture. But instead, she fought to keep her expression neutral as she handed over her false identity card and the travel permit she had fabricated just this morning.

The soldier examined them both, his eyes narrowed. When he looked back up at Eva, his expression was smug, hard. “Fr?ulein Charpentier,” he said, his tone dripping with disdain, “what is the destination of your travel today?”

“Paris.”

“For what purpose?”

Her heart thudded. Why had he picked her out to harass? Certainly her papers had passed muster earlier. She glanced quickly around the train carriage and found several people staring at her, some with sympathy, some with suspicion. She turned her attention back to the German. “Returning home.”

“And where are you coming from?” The soldier’s gaze had grown more suspicious.

“Aurignon.”

“What was your business there?”

“I was visiting an aunt.”

“I’ll need to see some other documents.”

“Other documents?”

“Surely you must have other papers? To prove that you are who you say you are?”

Eva just stared at him, her heart thudding. “But all I need to travel legally is my travel permit and my identification card.”

The soldier’s eyes were bright now, excited, and Eva felt like a wounded rabbit being circled by a hungry wolf. “And yet most citizens would carry with them something else that would prove who they are.” He raised an eyebrow and added, “Unless they were traveling on false papers.”

“What seems to be the problem?” A deep voice with a French accent cut in behind the soldier, and as he turned with a sneer, Eva’s mouth fell open. Standing just a row away was the dark-haired young man from last night, the one who had interrupted her in the church library. She sucked in a deep breath.

“And you are…?” the German asked.

“Her husband.” He slid easily into the seat beside Eva, placed his palm possessively on her thigh, and kissed her cheek. “Hello, darling. I’m sorry I was gone so long. I grew enraptured by the scenery and lost track of time.”

“H-hello,” Eva managed to stammer.

“Her husband? Let me see your papers, then.”

Eva stopped breathing. How on earth would he get out of this?

But he just smiled easily and withdrew documents from his pocket, handing them to the German.

“Rémy Charpentier,” the soldier read, and this time, Eva gasped aloud, which earned her a swift jab in the ribs.

“Sorry, darling,” he said cheerfully, glaring at her through a smile. “My arm slipped.”

As Eva gaped at him, he pulled out a few other papers and handed them to the soldier. “Here you are. My wife’s student identification papers, her library card, and a ticket she got last week for riding her bike without a headlight. She tends to lose things, so I hold on to them for her. You know how women can be.”

The soldier shuffled through the papers without a frown and then handed them back. “Very well. But you shouldn’t let her travel by herself again. She has quite a Jewish look to her.”

“Yes, of course, thank you for your advice.” The dark-haired man nodded politely at the soldier as he moved on.

Eva waited until the German was out of earshot before leaning over and hissing, “Would you kindly take your hand off my thigh?”

“What kind of a way is that to thank me for rescuing you?” The man grinned at her, but after a few seconds, he moved his hand. He was still holding Eva’s papers, though.

“What are you doing here?”

“Why, traveling with you, darling,” he replied loudly, pointing out the window. “Look, is that Varennes-sur-Allier we’re passing now? Why, I think it is. Don’t you love the way the river winds through the village? You can see it there, just beyond that field.”

“You want me to discuss the landscape with you?”

“No.” His voice was suddenly hushed, urgent, in her ear. “I want you to calm down and pretend to be in love with me. Or even simply acquainted with me. I just saved you, and the least you could do is trust me for the next few hours. I’ll explain everything once we reach Paris. There are too many people here paying attention to us.” He flashed a charming grin at an old woman staring at them from two aisles away. She snorted and went back to her knitting.

“Fine,” Eva grumbled. “Now, will you give me my papers back?”

He handed her the documents she had forged, along with the ones he had used to persuade the German soldier that she was who she said she was. She glanced at them and frowned. “But these are absolutely terrible.”

The young man looked offended. “I assume that what you meant to say was, ‘Thank you so very much, handsome Rémy, for coming to my rescue.’?”

“I—”

“Personally, I think they’re quite good for a rush job.”

She just looked at him.

“Oh, for goodness’ sake, there’s your rabbit-in-the-headlights look again.” He rolled his eyes. “Now, be a sport and hold my hand, will you? Your soldier friend is coming back.”

Eva glanced up and saw the German striding toward them from the other end of the train car, his menacing gaze glued on her. But before the soldier could say a word, Rémy leaned over and covered her mouth with his, his lips soft and gentle as he kissed her. Eva hesitated and glanced once more at the sneering German before closing her eyes and kissing back. The oxygen seemed to vanish around her, making her light-headed. By the time Rémy pulled away, looking amused, the German was gone, and her heart was racing. She knew the kiss had been merely a diversion, but his tenderness had knocked her off balance. “You can’t just kiss me like that,” she whispered.

He simply laughed and shook his head. “Sorry, what was that? Oh yes, was it, ‘Thank you so very much, handsome Rémy, for coming to my rescue for the second time today’?”

“Was that all that was? You coming to my rescue?”

“Of course,” Rémy said, settling back in his seat with a sigh, traces of a satisfied smirk dancing across his lips. “After all, you’re my wife.”

* * *