“I heard. I’m very sorry.”

She shrugged, trying to pretend that it was all right, that she had come to terms with it, but to her horror, she began to cry. Joseph pulled her close again, murmuring into her hair as she tried to get ahold of herself. Finally, mortified, she pulled away. “I—I don’t know what came over me. I haven’t cried about him in months. It’s just that seeing you…”

“Seeing you brings the past rushing back for me, too, Eva.” His voice was even deeper than she remembered, almost as if time had hardened him into something different. Was he thinking the same of her?

“How did you end up here?” she asked.

“Of course, I’m not supposed to tell you—network protocol and all that—but you’re Eva Traube, for God’s sake.” He chuckled as if he still couldn’t believe it. “You see, Eva, I was working for a similar network in Paris. Remember when I told you about the plans for the roundup in July and suggested you warn your parents?” The question was mild, but Eva felt the blame in it. He had given her the information necessary to save her father, but she had squandered it. She looked away.

“I tried, Joseph, but they didn’t believe me.”

“There were many people who didn’t think it could possibly happen,” he said immediately. “But now we know. In any case, it turned out I was quite good at staying one step ahead of the enemy.” He flashed her another smile, and she was reminded that for all his charm, modesty had never been Joseph’s strong suit. “When there was the need to expand a network in this part of France, one that could work with the underground in Paris, I was asked to come.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Since the end of August.” He paused. “And your mother, Eva? Was she taken, too, along with your father?”

Eva felt a stab of pain. “No, thank goodness. She’s here with me.”

He looked surprised. “Well, then, you were lucky. She is well?”

Eva thought for a moment about pouring out the story of her mother’s increasing bitterness, and the way it felt like she blamed Eva for her father’s arrest. But Joseph hadn’t come to hear her woes, and she knew that her problems paled in comparison to the things he likely carried on his shoulders if he was active in the underground. “I suppose she’s as well as can be expected.”

“You must give her my regards.”

“She would love to see you. You should come to dinner tonight.” Eva felt like a fool the moment the invitation had been extended. It wasn’t as if she could offer him a gourmet meal. Even with her small salary from Père Clément and plenty of false ration cards at her disposal, it was nearly impossible to obtain anything decent in the middle of winter. Last night, for example, Madame Barbier had served a pot of vetch, which she’d been boiling all day. The hard grains were typically used only as animal feed, and as Eva had tried to choke down a few spoonfuls, she understood why: they tasted like dirty socks. Besides, even if Joseph happened to be a fan of stewed socks, certainly he had better things to do than come to dinner with Eva and Mamusia, more important people to spend his time with.

So she was surprised when Joseph smiled after only a brief hesitation. “You know what? I would love to. I will bring the materials with me.”

“Materials?”

“The things I wanted to discuss with the forger, Eva Moreau. I still can’t believe it’s you.” He patted her on the head, the way one might with a small child. “Give me your address, and I will be there.”

“We’re in Madame Barbier’s boardinghouse. Do you know it?”

“I do. And remember, Eva, you can’t tell anyone my real identity.” He shook his head and reached out once more to touch her cheek, his hand lingering there, still ice-cold. “Who would have guessed, little Eva Traube fighting the Germans? Wonders never cease.”

And then, replacing his cap and wrapping his scarf around his neck once again, he was gone, disappearing out into the sunny morning.

* * *

On the short walk back to the church, Eva didn’t tell Père Clément that Joseph was a familiar face from the past; she told him only that the meeting had gone well and then gratefully accepted the comfortable silence that settled between them. He bade her goodbye at the door to the church, giving her a paternal kiss on the forehead, and Eva let herself into the small library with a million thoughts swirling through her head.

“So? You met Faucon?” Rémy’s voice startled her enough that she let out a small shriek; he had been standing in the shadows near the back bookcase when she arrived, and she’d been in such a fog that she hadn’t noticed him. He stepped from the darkness with a frown. “I suppose he wanted to tell you everything we were doing wrong here?”

“Actually, he was quite lovely.”

“Not exactly the word I would use to describe him.”

Eva blinked in surprise. “You’ve met him?”

“Twice now. And if he spent as much time helping the underground as he did coiffing his hair in the mirror, perhaps we would have beaten the Germans already.”

“Rémy, he’s not that bad.” She wanted to explain that she and the man he knew as Gérard Faucon had been in school together since they were small, that he knew her mother, that she’d known his parents, that she knew he was a decent fellow, if a bit egotistical. But that would be giving away information that wasn’t hers to share.

“I suppose he’s all right. He just rubbed me the wrong way. So out with it, then. What did he want to criticize?”

“I don’t know yet. He said he’ll explain tonight.”

Rémy raised an eyebrow. “Tonight?”

“Yes. He’s, er, coming to dinner.”

Hurt flashed across Rémy’s face, and he turned away. “I see. A date, then?”

“No, no, of course not.” But Eva couldn’t elaborate. She swallowed hard and changed the subject. “So you say you’ve met him a couple of times? Why?”

Rémy’s gaze was sad as he turned back to her. “I’ve been looking for ways to get more involved with the effort, Eva. I thought he might be able to help me.”

“But you’re already doing plenty. Look at all the children we’ve helped together.”

“Don’t you ever wish you were doing more, though? I feel so powerless here sometimes, especially since the Germans moved in last month.” He sighed. “A few weeks ago, I asked for a meeting with Claude Gaudibert. You’ve heard of him?”

Eva nodded. It was the alias used by the man who was in charge of the Resistance in their area; she had heard Père Clément and Madame Noirot mention him.

“Well, he sent Faucon in his place, and apparently he wasn’t too impressed with me. He asked me many questions about the work we’re doing here, and he said he’d get back to me about other ways I could help. I didn’t hear from him again until earlier this week. He said Gaudibert wanted to know if I might be available for some other operations.”

“What sort of operations?”

Rémy’s eyes moved back to hers. “He needs more couriers to help escort children across the border to Switzerland. It seems there’s an immediate need, as one of the men who typically runs the route has been arrested.”

“But, Rémy, that must be very dangerous. You’re not really considering it, are you?” Eva could feel tears in her eyes, and she knew Rémy saw them, because he finally softened, taking a step closer and touching her cheek.

“I have to, Eva. I have to do more to help. It’s what I came here today to tell you. I’ve already told Père Clément.”

“Told him what?”

“That I leave tonight with my first group of children.”

Her whole body felt suddenly cold. “To-tonight? But it’s the middle of winter. Surely a crossing would be perilous.”

He shook his head. “I’m told we send the children across near Geneva, without going through the Alps, so the weather doesn’t pose a tremendous problem. In fact, it limits troop movement, which works in our favor.”

“But, Rémy, what if something happens to you?”

“I’ll be careful.” He took a step closer, his breath warm on her cheek, and for a second, she thought he might kiss her. He merely brushed his lips against her forehead, though, and then quickly stepped back, as if he’d been burned. “Anyhow, enjoy your dinner with Faucon.”

“Rémy, I—”

But he had already turned his back, and a few seconds later he was gone, the lock clicking behind him. Eva considered going after him, begging him to give the courier job to someone else, but why would he listen to her? He didn’t owe her a thing.

How could Gaudibert so easily risk Rémy’s life? If he was captured, how could their network absorb the loss of such a skilled forger? She tried to push the thoughts from her mind, to turn to the dozens of papers she needed to forge that day, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to focus. Every time she blinked, she would see Rémy in her mind’s eye, cold and alone in a snowstorm, a Nazi rifle to his head.

* * *