“I plan to go fetch Rémy myself.”

“Père Clément—”

He held up a hand to stop her. “I prayed about it all night, Eva. It’s the right thing. I’ll go as myself—a parish priest concerned about one of his congregants—and I’ll be able to persuade them that he’s simply ashamed of his Austrian past, and a bit simple, too. I’ll apologize for his terrible error in judgment in using false papers, and I’ll give them my word it will never happen again.”

“If they’ve already made him confess…” Eva could barely get the words out.

“I agree with what you said earlier, Eva, and I feel certain that hasn’t happened. Is there a risk? Yes. But I’ve spent the war so far safe inside this church while men like Rémy and Faucon are out there risking their lives each day. It’s time I do some of the same.”

“I’ll come with you,” Eva said.

He shook his head firmly. “That would only complicate things and make it all more dangerous. Besides, if something goes wrong, we can’t afford to lose you, too.”

She didn’t like it, but she knew he was right. “I—I don’t know how to thank you.”

“I’m the one in your debt, Eva,” Père Clément said. He wrapped his hands around hers and squeezed once, comfortingly, before letting go.

* * *

Three days later, Eva was working in the library by herself when the door opened. “Rémy?” she cried, jumping to her feet.

But it was only Père Clément, wearing a somber expression, and suddenly, Eva’s heart was in her throat. “Père Clément, is he…?”

“He’s fine,” Père Clément said quickly. “Rémy did a wonderful job of playing along. In fact, by some miracle, he even knew a few words of Austro-Bavarian, apparently enough to fool the gendarmes. Thank God he wasn’t in German custody yet.”

Relief swept over Eva, but it was still tempered by fear. She glanced behind Père Clément again. “Then where is he?”

Père Clément crossed the room and took Eva’s hands. “He’s not coming back right now.”

“But—”

“He’s all right, Eva, but he’s needed farther to the north. I’m not sure why Gaudibert and Faucon had rearranged things so Rémy would be traveling so frequently across the border, but the underground needs him for his explosives expertise. He won’t be making any more trips as a courier, though, now that he’s on the authorities’ radar. He is, as they say, grillé.”

“Did they… hurt him?”

“They roughed him up a bit, but that was it. Apparently they thought he was just smuggling black market cigarettes for profit. No idea that he was working against them. Their misunderstanding likely saved his life.”

Eva exhaled. “And he’s safe?”

“For now. But what he’s doing is dangerous. If the Germans catch him sabotaging them, he’ll be executed immediately. Eva, you have to understand that the odds aren’t in his favor.”

“They aren’t in mine, either. Yet I’m still here.”

He gave her a small smile. “I suppose all we can do now is to pray for him—and to do our best here to support the work, as we always do.”

“Père Clément?” Eva asked after a moment. “Did he ask about me?”

“Of course he did.”

“And?”

Père Clément held her gaze. “He wanted to make sure you were all right, that you were safe.”

“That was all? There was no message?”

“I’m afraid not, Eva.”

It wasn’t until Père Clément left that she allowed the tears to come. She tried to push them away, to tell herself that certainly today’s news had been good: Rémy was alive. He was mostly unharmed, and he wouldn’t be making any more border crossings.

But he wouldn’t be coming back to her. And now she’d have no way of knowing whether he was safe. At least the false papers for Andras Konig would give him an extra layer of protection, but she knew they’d be worthless if he was caught doing something criminal—or if something went wrong and he blew himself up. Père Clément was right, all she could do was pray.

And so she turned to the stack of Journal Officiel newspapers and began to flip through, looking for identities she could steal for others like Rémy who were standing on the front lines of a battle the Germans wouldn’t see coming.

* * *

In the next week, Eva went to the boardinghouse to sleep beside her mother only three times; the other nights, she spent holed up in the church, poring over the gazettes, forging papers, and sneaking in a few hours of sleep where she could find them. There were ration cards to be printed, identities to create, children to protect, Resistance fighters to hide. The work never seemed to let up, and to her credit, though she left before sundown, Geneviève worked as hard as Eva did during the day and brought a certain lightness to the somber library.

On the Thursday night after Père Clément returned with the news about Rémy, Eva finally allowed herself to leave early. She found her mother sitting at the window in the parlor, gazing out with a blank expression.

“Mamusia, are you all right?” she asked, bending beside her.

Her mother didn’t even turn to look at her. “I’m just wondering where your father is right now.”

Eva squeezed her eyes shut and then opened them again. “Mamusia—” she began gently.

“Do you know what we were doing thirty years ago today?” she interrupted.

“No, Mamusia.”

“We were getting married. He wore a borrowed suit, and I wore white, and I thought all my dreams had come true. We thought we would have such a wonderful life together. A long life. And now, look where we are. He’s somewhere to the east, probably worrying about me, and I’m here, all alone.”

“Oh, Mamusia.” Eva had forgotten the date. “Happy anniversary. I’m so sorry I didn’t say anything. You’re wrong about being alone, though. I’m here.”

“You are in your own world, Eva, and there’s no room for me in it.”

Eva wanted to tell her that there was no room for anyone, but that wouldn’t be true; there had been a space for Rémy, and now that corner stood cold and dark. “Mamusia, I will always be here. I’m sorry I haven’t made you feel that way.”

Mamusia sighed. “An apology won’t return your father to me.” She walked away, and a few seconds later, Eva heard the door to their room slam.

Madame Barbier emerged from the kitchen, drying her hands on a towel. “Everything all right?”

“I—I can’t seem to do anything but let my mother down.”

“Dear, your mother is just exhausted, tired of hoping, tired of waiting.” Madame Barbier crossed the room and put a hand on Eva’s shoulder. “We all are. This war, it has gone on too long. And all she can see is that the people who matter most—you and your father—have been taken from her.”

“Taken? I’m right here.”

“It doesn’t feel that way to her, though that’s not your fault.”

“But she’s my family.”

“And in the midst of a war like this, you realize that family is more than just blood. I’m your family now, and so is Père Clément. So are all the children you’ve helped save, and the men and women who can continue to fight for France because you’ve protected them.”

“That doesn’t fix things with my mother.”

“One day she will understand that you did what you were born to do.”

Eva looked at her. “With my father gone, though…” She couldn’t complete the sentence.

“Dear girl, don’t you see?” Madame Barbier gave her a small smile. “Without people like you, France will fall to the wolves. The only way to save your mother is to save France. And that is just what you are doing.”

After Madame Barbier returned to the kitchen, Eva knocked on the locked door to the room she shared with her mother, but there was no answer.

“Mamusia, please open up,” Eva called through the wood. “I love you. I’m not trying to hurt you.”

“Go away.” Her mother’s reply was muffled but the words were unmistakable.

“Mamusia…”

“Please, Eva. I just—I want to be alone.”

Eva considered staying, trying to wear her mother down with apologies for any hurt she was causing, but Madame Barbier was right. If France fell, she and her mother would eventually be deported, simply because of the Jewish blood that coursed through their veins. Eva had to stop that from happening, and the only way to do so was to get back to work.