He thrust the papers at them and walked away, shaking his head. Rémy and Eva waited until he was out of sight around the corner before bending simultaneously to the little girl. “How did you know to say that?” Eva asked. “You saved us.”

The girl smiled. “I had two older brothers who taught me that when telling a fib, to widen your eyes to sell the act.” Then her smile faltered, and as she hung her head, she added in a whisper, “They were taken with my real maman and papa.”

Eva embraced the girl, wishing she could take away the pain that had already been inflicted. But it was too late. Loss would forever be etched on the child like a tattoo; it might fade over time, but it would never be erased.

* * *

Just before midnight, the train to Annecy pulled into the station, and with their heads down, Rémy and Eva led their new “family” aboard. They had spent the past few hours watching over the children as they slept and whispering to each other about the things that had happened over their time apart. Eva wanted to savor every moment, but after the children were settled into seats and the train had pulled into the darkness of the French countryside, exhaustion tugged at her. She hadn’t slept in two days, and here, with Rémy at her side, she felt safer than she’d felt in months.

“Get some rest,” he whispered as the children dozed nearby. “I’ll keep the first watch, and I’ll wake you if anyone comes to check our papers.”

She stifled a yawn. “You must be very tired, too.”

He touched her cheek gently. “Eva, it will be a gift to watch you sleep.”

And so she dozed on his shoulder for a few hours, and after a German policeman gave their documents a bored, cursory check, she insisted on Rémy taking a turn. He leaned into her, and she stroked his hair, marveling at the miracle that had brought them back together. But how long would it be until they were separated again?

At just past six in the morning, Eva roused Rémy, and together they woke the children. The train pulled into the small station in Annecy at six thirty, and they quickly made their way down a narrow lane outside the station doors to a Protestant church nearby. It was a boxy brick building with a large cross out front. Inside, the pews were made of dark, smooth wood, and a simple metal cross shone down from above the altar.

“Stay here with the children,” Rémy whispered to Eva. “If anyone enters, pretend you’re praying. The pastor here is named Chapal. He’ll vouch for you.”

“Where are you going?”

“To see a priest.”

Eva blinked at him. “A priest?”

“Here in Annecy, the Protestants and Catholics work together to get people like us out. The priest will tell me whether the driver of this morning’s bus to Collonges-sous-Salève is a friend or a foe. If he’s not one of us, we stay here for the night. If he is, be ready to move.”

“You’ve done this many times.” She was seeing a whole new side to Rémy.

Rémy nodded. “Though never with someone I care so much about. Everything must be perfect.” He was gone before she could reply.

The children sat silently beside her, the two older boys staring at the cross, Georges tapping a rapid rhythm on his knee, and Jacqueline twirling tangles in her hair. Eva could feel the unease rolling from them in waves. “It’s going to be all right,” she said in a low voice, leaning toward them. “He’ll be back soon. He knows what to do.”

“How do you know?” the second oldest, Maurice, asked.

“I just do. He’s done this before. I trust him with my life.”

“Is he really your husband?” asked Jacqueline.

There was suddenly a lump in her throat so hard she couldn’t speak for a second. “No. No, he’s not. But we must pretend.”

“He’s not pretending, though,” said Georges. “He really loves you. You can tell.”

Eva blinked at him. “We have known each other for a long time.”

“Nah, it is more than that. He looks at you when you’re not watching him. It is exactly the way Herbert Marshall stares at Claudette Colbert in Zaza.”

Eva could feel herself blushing. “And what exactly are you doing watching an American film about a love affair?”

She meant to tease him, but the boy looked instantly crestfallen. “My papa used to love films. He took me with him whenever he could afford the movie theater near our apartment in Paris.” He hesitated and added in a voice so low it was barely audible, “Papa isn’t here anymore. No more movies.”

“I’m so sorry.” It was all Eva could think to say.

The boy sniffled and then flashed a smile that was clearly false. “And anyhow, you look at him the way Claudette Colbert looks at Herbert Marshall, too. You’re Zaza and he’s Dufresne.”

Eva had just opened her mouth to reply when the door to the church opened and Rémy appeared, backlit by daylight. “Come.” He beckoned to Eva and the children. “The bus leaves early today. There’s no time to lose.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Forty-five minutes later, Rémy held Eva’s hand as he helped her and the children onto a rickety bus headed toward Geneva. From the way Rémy and the driver nodded to each other, Eva understood that they were already acquainted.

As the bus rolled north, Eva could feel Rémy’s eyes on her as she gazed out the right window at the glistening, soaring Alps. Though she’d spent the past year and a half in Aurignon, with mountains in the distance, there was nothing quite like being in their shadow; they seemed to stretch straight up, their snow-dusted peaks like something out a fairy tale. If Eva hadn’t been terrified about their journey and worried about the children, the view would have taken her breath away.

They stopped in épagny, Allonzier-la-Caille, Cruseilles, Copponex, Beaumont, Neydens, and Archamps before finally pulling into Collonges-sous-Salève, where the driver stopped abruptly at the top of a hill rather than in the city center. Rémy beckoned to Eva, and as they disembarked with the children, the driver nodded once more before pulling away. “Here we are,” Rémy said cheerfully, loud enough to be overheard, though there appeared to be no one else out and about in the frigid weather. “Your mother’s town. Let’s go see her friend, the priest, before we visit with her, shall we?”

“Another priest?” Eva murmured as they began trudging through freshly fallen, ankle-deep snow toward a small stone cottage at the end of the lane. Smoke snaked skyward from the slightly tilted brick chimney.

“God’s hand is everywhere,” Rémy replied, his voice soft, and he gave the children another encouraging smile as they approached the house.

The door opened before they got there, revealing a short, portly man in a long, dark priest’s robe. He was bald, his complexion ruddy, his eyes clear and blue. “Come in, come in,” he said, gesturing urgently toward them. “Before someone sees.”

Rémy and Eva hustled the children inside, and the man closed the door behind them with a thud.

“Eva, this is le Père Bouyssonie. Père Bouyssonie, this is Eva.”

The priest’s eyebrows shot up. “Ah. Eva. I have heard much about you.” Eva glanced at Rémy, who was suddenly studying the floor intently. The priest chuckled. “And these, I assume, are the four children in your care?”

Eva nodded. “Yes. Georges, Maurice, Jacqueline, and Didier.”

The priest bent until he was at eye level with the little girl. He looked at each of them, one by one. “It is wonderful to meet you. I want to remind you that God knows who you are. He always has and always will. He sees your hearts, even in the darkness.”

The three boys looked perplexed, but the little girl was nodding like she understood exactly what he meant.

“Thanks, as always, for having us, Père Bouyssonie,” Rémy said. “Is everything looking good for the crossing?”

“Yes, yes. Let’s get your little family to the attic, shall we? Then I can brief you on today’s movements from the border guards.” He smiled at Eva. “I’m sorry that our accommodations aren’t more comfortable, but the attic is a quiet and safe place to rest for the day. And best of all, there’s a little window that allows you to look out to the north. You can see Switzerland not five hundred meters from here, just across the barbed wire fence.”

He led them up a rickety, pull-down ladder to a small space overhead that had already been stocked with blankets and pillows. A pitcher of water rested on a small table beside several glasses, a loaf of bread, and a small jar of preserves. “It’s not much,” Père Bouyssonie said with an apologetic shrug. “With any luck, though, you won’t be here for long.” He gestured to the window. “Look, Eva. Just beyond the trees.”

Eva moved to the window, and her breath caught in her throat. Just beyond the priest’s yard, across a broad field, a barbed wire fence stretched as far as the eye could see. On the Swiss side, tall, slender skeletons of poplar trees reached for the winter sky, and beyond them, Swiss Army sentries with long, heavy wool coats and thick black boots walked along the border, rifles slung over their shoulders. She could feel Rémy’s breath on her cheek as he crouched beside her.