“If they’d told me the name of the Bibliotheksschutz, I could have saved myself a week of worry. I’ve been perfecting my tirade since we learned of the ‘inspection.’?”

“What were you going to say?” he asked, still standing at attention.

“Stay for tea.” She gestured to a chair.

Margaret went to get another cup. I knew I should have gone but was too fascinated by this turn of events.

“I was going to tell the Bibliotheksschutz that a library without members is a cemetery of books,” Miss Reeder said. “Books are like people; without contact, they cease to exist.”

“Beautifully said,” he replied.

“I was ready to humbly beg to keep the Library open. How could I have guessed that it would be you?”

“You must know I would never allow the Library to be closed. However…”

“Yes?” she prompted.

“You’ll be bound by the rules imposed on the Bibliothèque Nationale. Certain books may no longer circulate.” He pulled a list from his briefcase.

“Are we required to destroy them?” Miss Reeder asked.

He looked at her, appalled. “My dear young lady, I said that they must not circulate. What a question between professional librarians! People like us don’t destroy books.”

Margaret returned with a cup of Earl Grey. The citrusy smell of bergamot infused the room with hope. People like us. A fellow librarian, a kindred spirit. Yes, this war had divided us, but a love of literature would reunite us. We could meet over tea and talk like civilized people. Miss Reeder let out a shaky sigh, perhaps feeling the worst was over. She and the Bibliotheksschutz reminisced about conferences they’d attended and people they knew—oh my, the ALA event in Chicago was so interesting; ah yes, she’s retired now; he transferred to another branch and just isn’t the same.

With a start, Dr. Fuchs consulted his watch and said he was late for his next appointment. “It was a pleasure to see you,” he told the Directress as he rose. At the door, beaming about a meeting that had gone well, he turned to us. I expected a comment about the collection or a bland farewell. “Of course,” he said, “certain people may no longer enter.”

CHAPTER 23

Odile

DIGGING HER FINGERS into her temple, Miss Reeder murmured, “I must think. There must be a way… Perhaps we can deliver books somehow…”

Staff filed in, one by one. Bitsi bit her lip. Boris frowned. Miss Wedd had twelve pencils in her bun. I pulled The Dreamers from Miss Reeder’s shelf. I needed something to hold on to. I didn’t have to turn the pages to know what was written: “This book is a map, each chapter a journey. Sometimes the way is dark, sometimes it leads us to the light. I’m afraid of where we’re going.”

“Well?” Bitsi said. “What did ‘the Library Protector’ say?”

“We must take forty works from our shelves,” Margaret replied.

On the list: Ernest Hemingway, who’d written for our newsletter, and William Shirer, who researched articles in our reading room.

“When you consider their banned-book list includes hundreds of works,” Boris said, “it’s a small price to pay.”

I wasn’t so sure. Without these books, Paris would lose a part of its soul.

“We can check them out to subscribers we know well,” Peter-the-shelver said.

Subscribers we know well… I thought of Professor Cohen, of the students from the Sorbonne, of the little ones who came to Story Hour. Holding the book to my chest, I wondered how we could tell the professor that she was no longer welcome. I wondered how we would face our other Jewish subscribers. I wondered if we would deny children books. Of course, the diktat went deeper than books. The Bibliotheksschutz demanded that we cut subscribers from the fabric of our community.

* * *

THE COUNTESS CLARA de Chambrun arrived and settled into the chair that Dr. Fuchs had vacated. She was the only remaining Library trustee still in France—the others had sailed back to the safety of the States. She’d lived in America, Africa, and Europe. A Shakespeare scholar, she held a doctorate from the Sorbonne. I could see vast experience in her shrewd eyes, and hoped that with her help, we’d find a way forward.

Reading glasses perched on the tip of her nose, she said, “Now, what did you need to tell me?”

We turned to the Directress. Usually, she spoke briskly, aware time spent in meetings was time away from tasks. “I… That is…”

“Go on,” the Countess urged.

“No Jews are allowed in the Library by Nazi police regulations.” Miss Reeder’s voice was small. She shook her head, as if she couldn’t believe the words had come out of her mouth.

“You can’t be serious!” Bitsi said. Chin jutting out, she resembled Rémy, raring to fight for those in need.

“The books of the Alliance israélite universelle were seized,” Boris said, “in a complete and total amputation. The Nazis not only seized the collection of the Ukrainian library, they arrested the librarian. God only knows where he is. If we don’t follow orders, they’ll close the Library and arrest us. At best.”

We looked to Miss Reeder.

“?‘Certain people may no longer enter,’?” she repeated. “Several are our most loyal subscribers. There must be a way we can keep contact with them.”