“It’s you,” he said softly when finally he was at her side.

“It’s you,” she breathed, and then his lips were on hers, and he was kissing her in a way that made her forget the world around them for a few precious seconds. It was just the two of them until suddenly, a gasp from the little girl holding Rémy’s hand jolted them out of the moment.

“What is it, Jacqueline?” Rémy asked, and the second his lips were no longer on Eva’s, he was already too far away. “Are you all right, dear? Your maman and I are right here.”

As he bent to the little girl, Eva’s heart lurched, for it was a fleeting glimpse of a future she hadn’t dared imagine, a future in which she and Rémy were Maman and Papa to a little girl like Jacqueline, or a little boy like Didier. Just as quickly, she reminded herself of her own mother’s words that morning: You’d rather be a part of this false family you’ve let yourself believe in. She swallowed her guilt and followed the little girl’s eyes to the uniformed German soldier who had just stepped out of the station for a smoke.

“Remember, Jacqueline,” Rémy said, smoothly, gently, his tone betraying none of the trepidation he must have felt. “There’s no need to fear the men in uniform. They’re our friends.”

Just a few feet away, the soldier struggled to light a match in the icy breeze. With an easy smile, Rémy let go of the little girl, who instantly clutched Eva’s hand, and he crossed to the soldier, pulling a book of matches from his overcoat pocket. He struck one and cupped his hand around it while the soldier lit his cigarette.

The German, blond with a baby face, nodded at Rémy and then at Eva. “Danke,” he said, hastily adding, “Or, er, merci,” with an apologetic smile.

Rémy stepped back and slung an arm around Eva’s shoulder, as if he’d done it a thousand times before. “De rien,” he said.

The soldier moved on, and Eva exhaled. “You are the one who made them their false papers?” she whispered to Rémy, nodding to the children.

“Yes, but mine were never as good as yours.” She could feel his smile against her cheek as she whispered into his ear. “I admit it now. So I am glad you are here with your documents.” He paused and added, “Well, actually, I am simply glad you are here.”

“I am, too,” she whispered, and when he turned back to her, his lips brushed hers again, and she wished that they could stay in the moment forever. But she knew they had to move inside, to get the children off the street, to feed them and calm them before the overnight ride ahead. “Come, my loves,” she said, turning from Rémy to smile at the children. “Let’s go find a seat, shall we?”

“I’ll be right there to join you,” Rémy said softly. “I must get rid of the children’s papers first.”

“How will you do that?”

His familiar smile warmed her heart. “There’s nearly always a small fire burning inside the stationmaster’s office, which the guards use to warm themselves. They leave the office unoccupied—and unlocked—most of the time. It should take just a moment to donate a bit of extra fuel.”

Five minutes later, Rémy found them near track two, and the makeshift family huddled together, trying to get warm. The night was icy, and outside the office, the station provided no heat, so when they spoke, their words lingered in the air, puffs of white in the darkness. “What are you doing here?” Eva whispered once the children were sharing the loaf of bread and hunk of cheese Rémy produced from a coat pocket.

“I could ask the same of you.” His breath was warm on her ear, and she longed to lean into him, to close her eyes, to pretend that they were two lovers on their way somewhere. But she had to keep a lookout for German soldiers or suspicious French gendarmes.

“Our cell was blown,” she murmured, and as he nodded, she realized that of course he’d already known. “Père Clément asked me to help escort some children—and then to remain in Switzerland.” Even saying the words felt wrong, like she was abandoning her post, discarding the cause she had worked so hard for.

Relief swept across Rémy’s features and he pulled her closer. “Thank God. They finally listened to me.”

“You were the one who suggested I go? But, Rémy, I belong here. In France. Working.”

“No, you belong somewhere safe.” When he turned to her, there were tears in his eyes, and she had to stop herself from leaning in to kiss him. “You deserve to grow old and have children and grandchildren and a happy life. That won’t happen if you stay.”

“What about you?”

He hesitated. “I have to remain here, Eva. But I can’t do the things I need to do until I know you’re safe.”

“Don’t you see, Rémy? I feel the same. I can’t just walk away now.”

“You must. You live in plain sight, Eva. Things for me are different. I live in the woods with other people finding ways to undermine the Germans.”

“I could live there, too,” she said in a small voice. “Surely they’ll still need false documents…”

He touched her face. “We move every few days, and we’re ready to run at a moment’s notice. There would be no way to keep you and your supplies out there with us. Besides, Eva, the fight is changing. It’s no longer about peaceful resistance, smuggling people out. We’re taking the battle right to the Germans now.”

“Rémy—”

“Once these children are out safely, the next phase begins for us.” He hesitated, and in a voice even lower than a whisper, he added, “We’ve amassed weapons, Eva. False papers won’t matter anymore.”

She covered her mouth. “It will be so dangerous.”

“It’s the only way. It’s about saving France now, maybe even the world. If we can turn the Germans back, reverse the tide, we can preserve humanity.”

She shook her head. “But the Allied army is coming, isn’t it? Père Clément says—”

“The Germans know they’re coming,” Rémy said, interrupting her. “They don’t know we’re ready to fight, too. We’ll weaken them first, attack them where it hurts. And when the Allies finally arrive, the Germans won’t know what to do.” When he pulled away from her, his eyes were alight, and she realized he was actually looking forward to the opportunity to fight.

“Please,” she whispered. “Please stay in Switzerland with me. What if you lose your life, Rémy?”

He turned away. “If I die for France, it won’t be a life lost. It will be a country saved. My only regret will be that it will cost me the chance for a future with you.”

A sob rose in Eva’s throat, and she managed to stifle it just as a uniformed French gendarme approached.

“Papers,” he barked, and Eva flashed him what she hoped was a pleasant smile as she extracted her false documents, and those of the children, from her handbag, where she had slipped them moments earlier after removing them from her sleeve. Rémy handed his papers over, too, and the policeman scrutinized them with a frown, flipping from one set to the next.

“Everything should be in order,” Rémy said after a long minute had passed and the man still hadn’t spoken. Beside her, Eva could feel little Jacqueline trembling.

“Perhaps,” the man in uniform said, looking up at Rémy with a hard stare. He made no move to return their papers. “But you see, this is a popular route for smugglers.”

“Smugglers?” Rémy’s laugh of disbelief was convincing. “Sir, we are just traveling with our children. You suspect them of smuggling what? Money? Guns?”

Eva bit back a gasp; was Rémy provoking the man on purpose?

The man glanced from Rémy to the children, his gaze finally settling on Eva. “As I’m sure you know, people are being smuggled. How do I know these children are yours?”

“How could you suggest such a thing?” Eva feigned indignation. “I birthed them all myself. We are simply going to visit my mother, who lives in Annecy. We will return in two days’ time.”

He looked hard at her and then turned to the oldest boy with a smirk. “You, there. Georges, is it? These are your parents? What are their names, then?”

The boy’s face turned red, and he gaped at the officer. Eva was just about to cut in, to blurt out their false names, but she was beaten to the punch by four-year-old Jacqueline.

“My maman is Lucie Besson, and my papa is André Besson,” she said calmly, her eyes wide. “You see them just here. And who are you? My parents told me that German officers aren’t frightening, that they are our friends, but you, you are not a German.”

The man gaped at her and then turned to Rémy. “You told your daughter here that she should trust the Germans?”

Rémy shrugged while Eva tried not to exhale audibly. The man had called Jacqueline their daughter, which meant he believed them.

“Well,” the gendarme said. “So then you are not smugglers, I see. You are merely fools.”