“I will find Faucon and tell him. And I will look out for your mother. But, dear, I don’t think you have anything to fear.”

“I hope you’re right,” Eva said softly. “In any case, I know it’s something I must do.” After all, she was already living on borrowed time. Every moment that had passed since the July roundup in Paris had been one she shouldn’t have had. And it had been Père Clément who had given her life here a purpose. There was nothing to do but walk into the fire and hope she wasn’t burned alive.

“Good luck, my dear,” Madame Noirot said. “I will be praying for you.”

* * *

Eva left the bookshop deep in thought. She needed to confront Père Clément right away, before she lost her courage. The only thing to do was to head for the church to find him. At least in the middle of the day, it would be more perilous for him to do her harm if her instincts were wrong. Whom was she kidding, though? If he was allied with the Germans, she was already doomed. That thought, strangely, made her feel better, for if that was the case, there was nothing to lose.

“Eva!” A whisper from the shadows stopped her abruptly as she hurried toward the church. She looked in the direction of the voice, but there was no one there.

“Eva!” the voice came again, and then Père Clément stepped from the alley to her right, a hat pulled low over his face.

Her heart stopped. True, she had been on her way to speak with him, but she wasn’t ready yet. She didn’t have her thoughts in order, nor did she have an escape plan. Her eyes darted from side to side, and she forced a smile to buy time. “Père Clément, what are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same, Eva.” He stepped from the shadows, frowning. “I usually find you in the church library this time of day.”

“I—I had some things I needed to do.”

He stared at her, long and hard. “You overheard me in the church last night, didn’t you?”

Eva could feel her cheeks growing warm. “I—I don’t know what you mean.”

As he studied her face intently, she couldn’t help realizing that beneath his weariness, his eyes looked sad. “Have you told anyone yet?”

She hesitated. “No.” If he was going to hurt her, he would also go after anyone else who knew.

“You were looking for Faucon, weren’t you?”

She bowed her head. “Yes.”

“I’m very glad I found you first. Please, Eva, I’d like you to come with me. There’s something I’d like to show you.”

She looked up and met his gaze. “I…”

He blinked a few times. “Eva, I swear to God that I intend you no harm.” When she still didn’t move, he took a step closer. “Eva, you know me. I would never betray the vows of my faith—and I would never hurt you. It’s important to me that you understand what you saw last night.”

She took a deep breath. “But I saw you with a Nazi. I saw you give him a list.”

“Yes.” He extended his hand to her. “Please, Eva. I need you to trust me.”

She hesitated before reaching out and letting him grab her hand. He was right; she couldn’t imagine him going against God. And if he was going to offer an explanation, she needed to hear it.

He led her down the shadowy alley in silence. As they wove through side streets, farther and farther from the town square, she asked, “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.” He took a sharp right onto the rue de Levant and then into the doorway of the Boulangerie de Levant, the town’s bakery. This late in the morning, the ration queues were gone, and the shelves and cases were picked clean. Eva recognized the stout, gray-haired woman in a white apron behind the counter. Though Eva had never come here for bread, leaving the shopping to Madame Barbier, she had grown accustomed to exchanging bonjours with the bakery owner, Madame Trintignant, as she passed by on her way home from the church once or twice a week.

The older woman looked up with a smile as they entered. “Ah, Père Clément,” she said, glancing once at Eva and then back at the priest. “The bread is rising in the back.”

“Merci, madame.” Père Clément stepped forward and kissed the woman on both cheeks. “Eva, I’d like to introduce you to Madame Trintignant. Madame, this is Mademoiselle Moreau.”

“Of course. I’ve seen you around town. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” Madame Trintignant said, her gaze sharp and appraising behind her polite smile. She looked back at the priest and added, “I’ll lock the front door and keep an eye out.”

“Merci.” Père Clément took Eva’s trembling hand again and led her behind the counter and through a door with an ease that suggested he’d been here many times before. They emerged into a kitchen, humid and warm from the ovens. Dozens of loaves—probably padded with potato, oats, buckwheat, or even wood shavings to deal with the wheat shortage—cooled on the counter, and the yeasty scent of baking bread enveloped them. Eva’s stomach growled; she couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten.

“Père Clément, what—?” Eva began, but she stopped short when a man in a perfectly pressed German uniform emerged from a back doorway that appeared to lead to a storage area. She sucked in a sharp breath; she recognized him immediately. It was the German she’d seen last night with Père Clément in the church, the one she thought she’d spotted following her earlier. She yelped and turned to run, but Père Clément moved to block her way.

He caught her gently by the wrists. “Eva, please. This is Erich. He’s a friend.”

Eva stopped struggling and turned to stare at the German, who was looking back at her with wide, unblinking eyes. He was younger than she’d thought—perhaps only a year or two older than she was. His wavy hair looked blonder under the lights of the kitchen, too, and his eyes were a deep blue. She might have considered him handsome under other circumstances. “But he’s a Nazi.”

Something shifted in the German’s expression. “I promise, I’m on your side.” His accent was thick, coating the words like buttermilk.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “How can that be? You fight for Germany!”

“I wear the German uniform,” he corrected gently. “I’d like to think I fight for freedom, though.”

Eva looked to Père Clément in astonishment. How could he trust anything this man was saying?

“Eva, he’s the one who has been tipping us off about the raids at the children’s home,” Père Clément explained gently, his eyes never leaving Eva’s. “His warnings have helped us save dozens.”

She turned to look at the German, who didn’t look so threatening and imposing now. “Why are you helping us?”

“Because what my country is doing is wrong. It’s one thing for the führer to try to expand our territory. But the things we’re being ordered to do—to children, to Jews, to the elderly—they are barbaric.” He looked at Père Clément and then back at Eva. “I am not perfect. I am trying to be a good man, though, a good Catholic. It’s why I sought Père Clément out. I can’t ignore my conscience any longer.”

“If they discover that you’re helping us…”

“Yes, I would be executed immediately.”

Eva stared at him for a long time before turning to Père Clément. “Faucon doesn’t know?”

“No.”

“Why?” After all, he was high up in the Resistance, and she thought Père Clément trusted him.

“The fewer people who know, the better,” Père Clément said. “Erich came to me last year, and I’ve kept his identity a secret since then.”

“So why tell me now?”

“Because you saw us. And because I trust you, Eva. I need you to trust me, too. There will likely come a day when Erich needs papers to escape, and I need you to be ready.”

Eva turned back to Erich. Up close, even in his chilling uniform, he didn’t look like a terrifying monster. He was just a man—and he was a man Père Clément trusted. “In February, were you the one who warned us about the raids on a few of the children’s homes?”

“Yes.”

Eva thought of little Frania Kor, who dreamed of finding a way out of Oz. Because of this German, the little girl had made it to Switzerland, where she would have a chance to survive. “If Père Clément trusts you, then I suppose I can try to, as well.”

Erich smiled and extended his hand. “Well, then, shall we start again? I’m Erich.”

She took a deep breath. It felt like the earth was shifting beneath her. “Eva. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Chapter Twenty-Three