Eva felt a sense of peace as a comfortable silence settled between them. “Thank you, Père Clément.”

“You can come to me anytime, Eva. And you can always come to God, too. The path of life is darkest when we choose to walk it alone.” A moment later, Père Clément took a sharp right onto a small side street, the rue Nicolas Tury, pulling Eva along with him. He stopped abruptly outside a narrow, three-story stone house with a single slim balcony jutting over the street. He knocked once on the chipped black front door, paused, and then knocked again, three times in quick succession. There was a long pause before the door was opened by someone Eva recognized from church but had never spoken to, a matronly woman with narrowed eyes and silver hair spun into a bun, who broke into a wide smile as soon as she recognized the priest.

“Père Clément!” She stepped forward and kissed him on both cheeks, then her eyes darted to Eva and narrowed again. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Madame Travere, I’d like to introduce you to Mademoiselle Moreau,” Père Clément said, gesturing formally to Eva. “Mademoiselle Moreau, Madame Travere.”

Madame Travere nodded at Eva, but she still looked suspicious. “And what brings Mademoiselle Moreau here today?” she asked, returning her gaze to Père Clément.

“She’s one of us,” Père Clément said. “And I’d like for her to meet the children.”

Madame Travere went completely still for a second. “Père Clément, with all due respect, we like to limit their interactions with strangers.” When she turned to Eva, her smile was cold. “I’m sure you understand.”

“Madame Travere,” Père Clément said. “I’m sure you’re familiar with the false documents and travel passes we’ve been using to move the children.”

“I’m not sure what you’re—”

“Mademoiselle Moreau is the one making them,” Père Clément said, interrupting Madame Travere’s protests.

Some of the iciness faded from the woman’s expression as she evaluated Eva again. “You don’t say.”

“It’s difficult for her, I think, to be stuck in the church all day with no contact with anyone she’s saving. It would help to be reminded of exactly what she’s risking so much for.”

The older woman opened and closed her mouth, and though her expression was still suspicious, she finally stepped aside, gesturing for Eva and the priest to enter. Eva murmured a merci, and Madame Travere nodded slightly.

They followed the older woman up two flights of stairs to the top floor, where a large parlor sat empty. Eva looked around in confusion. Certainly, there were no children around. But then, her lips pursed, Madame Travere picked up a broom and rapped sharply on the ceiling three times in quick succession. She paused, rapped twice more, paused again, and then struck the ceiling a final time.

“What is she doing?” Eva whispered to Père Clément, who merely smiled at her.

A few seconds later, a hidden trapdoor in the ceiling opened, and from the blackness above, a folding ladder descended. As Eva watched in awe, a boy of about ten climbed down, followed by another boy a bit younger, a girl of around thirteen, and another girl with lopsided pigtails who couldn’t have been more than seven.

“They’d just finished school for the day when you knocked,” Madame Travere said. “It took longer than usual to hustle them into the attic.”

Eva just looked at her.

“They often hide when someone arrives at the door,” Père Clément explained. “Just in case.”

“And… they go to school?”

“Well, yes, of course,” Madame Travere snapped. “You didn’t think that was just a holiday for them, did you? Surely you don’t expect me to let them simply sit around and play. Their brains would turn to soup.”

“What Madame Travere is trying to say,” Père Clément interjected with a smile, “is that we strive to keep life as normal for them as possible while they’re here. And that means making sure they continue their studies. She tutors them here.”

“The war will end someday,” Madame Travere said, “and if they don’t have an education, where will they be?”

The children had all glanced at Eva with mild interest when they descended from the ceiling, but they were all absorbed in their own activities now and were paying her no mind. The two boys were playing chess in the corner; the teenager was scribbling furiously in a notebook, and the younger girl had curled up in the corner of the sofa to read a book. Eva’s gaze rested on her. “They’re all Jewish refugees?”

Madame Travere looked away, but Père Clément nodded. “Yes. From the north.”

“And what will happen to them when they get to Switzerland?”

“They’re adopted,” Madame Travere said, her tone clipped. “Temporarily. Until they can be reunited with their parents.”

Eva thought of her own father and blinked back tears. “And if a reunion never comes?”

“There are provisions for that, too,” Père Clément said. “Some will come back to France, some will stay with their new families. We will make sure all of them are cared for, though. It is the most important thing we do.” He paused and added, “And you, my dear, are a big part of that.”

“Now,” Madame Travere said, clapping her hands once, “you’ve seen what there is to see. Shall we go?”

She began to walk away, but the little girl with the pigtails had looked up and locked eyes with Eva, and Eva felt herself drawn to the child. She moved across the room, ignoring Madame Travere, who was muttering something about interaction with the children being highly unusual.

“What’s your name, dear?” Eva asked, bending beside the girl who still held the book open in her lap.

The little girl blinked at her. “Anne.” From the way she said it, her eyes sliding away, Eva knew it was not the name she’d been born with, but rather a new identity someone had given her to get her here safely.

“It’s nice to meet you, Anne. My name is Mademoiselle Moreau.”

Anne studied her. “That is not your real name, though, is it, mademoiselle?”

Eva shook her head, feeling a surge of guilt. How could she lie to a child? But it was more dangerous to tell the truth. “No. It’s not.”

One day, when Eva had to produce false papers for the girl, she would learn who she really was. She wondered where she had come from, where she would go from here. She seemed so young to have her whole life ripped from her. “How old are you, Anne?” she asked.

“Six and a half. Nearly seven.”

“And what are you reading?”

The girl glanced down at the book in her hands. “Le Magicien d’Oz. Do you know it? It’s about a girl named Dorothée, who is carried into a strange land called Oz, where she meets a scarecrow, a tin woodman, and a cowardly lion.”

Eva smiled. “I’ve read it. But isn’t it quite a difficult book for someone so young?”

The little girl shrugged. “I know most of the words, and Madame Travere has given me a dictionary for the ones I do not. Besides, I think it doesn’t matter, as long as you can understand the characters.”

“It is rather fun to read about such fantastical creatures.”

“I suppose, but that’s not what I meant. I meant that in a way, I’m like Dorothée, aren’t I? I’m on a great adventure, and one day, I’ll find my way home.”

Eva had to swallow the lump in her throat before replying. “I think that’s a very good point.”

The little girl searched Eva’s eyes. “Do you know how it ends? Dorothée does get to go home, doesn’t she?”

“Yes. Yes, she does.”

“And her family is there waiting for her?”

Eva could only manage to nod.

“Good,” Anne said. “One day, the yellow brick road will lead me home, too. I know it.”

Père Clément appeared at Eva’s side then, and he put an arm around her. “Eva, we really must be going. But I see you’ve met our resident book lover.”

Anne smiled up at the priest. “Mademoiselle Moreau has read Le Magicien d’Oz, too, Père Clément!”

“Well, Anne, would you believe that Mademoiselle Moreau once worked in a very large library full of books? I believe she loves reading just as much as you do.”

Anne looked back at Eva, her eyes wide. “One day, I hope to work in a library, too. Do you think it’s possible?”

“Of course,” Eva replied, her voice choked. “Libraries are very magical places.”

Anne nodded solemnly and then returned her attention to the pages, already lost in the land of Oz once again. Eva watched her for a few seconds before Père Clément led her gently away.

Night had already begun to fall by the time Madame Travere shut the door firmly behind them and Eva and Père Clément began to walk away from the children’s home, back toward the church. Snowflakes drifted down in silence, clinging to the eaves.

“Thank you, Père Clément,” Eva said softly as they turned a corner.