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“When can I play the piano?” Josie asks, leaning into Tina.

“We’ll talk first, and then I’ll give you your lesson. A bit later today than usual, but it won’t be long,” Andrée assures her.

“Josie—can we call you Josie, or do you prefer Joséphine?” Louis asks.

“Josie, please. Everyone who loves me calls me Josie. Only my teachers and some of the grumpy people in our apartment building ever call me Joséphine.”

“Now we’ve agreed what we will call you, we would like to talk to you about what you should call us.”

Josie pulls herself from Tina’s embrace, looking from her to Andrée, not quite understanding.

“Josie, we are living in bad times, dangerous times for all of us, but more so for you. We don’t want anyone in this building or outside wondering too much about who you are. We need to be your family—just for now. Do you understand what I’m saying?” Tina asks.

“I think so. You want to pretend to be my family?”

“Yes, Josie, for all our safety.” Andrée leans forward. “We would like you to think about me being your aunt. You can call me Tata Andrée.”

Josie looks at Andrée. With the back of her hand, she wipes away tears that have not yet fallen. “Really? I can call you Tata Andrée?” Her voice quavers.

“Yes. Yes, I would like that very much,” Andrée says.

Josie nods in agreement before turning to Tina and Louis.

“If you are to call our daughter Tata, then that would make me your grandmother. How do you feel about calling me Grand-Mère?” Tina says.

Josie looks at Louis. His turn.

“And I must be your grandfather, your Grand-Père. What do you think?” Louis says, leaning close to Josie, his eyes kind.

“Grand-Père,” Josie whispers, smiling back at him. Turning to Tina, “Grand-Mère?”

“Then it’s settled,” says Andrée. She pauses. “Josie, there is one more thing I need to say. We do not want to replace your family. You will only have one Maman, one brother. We are just doing what we need to do to keep you safe until we can reunite you with your family. This is something we very much want to do.”

“I know. Thank you,” Joséphine says with genuine warmth. She turns to Andrée. “Can we have my lesson now?”

“Not quite. There is one more thing we want to talk to you about,” Louis says. “We don’t think you should go to school just yet. But Tata Andrée will speak to your headmistress tomorrow, when she goes to give her lessons there. It may be possible to enroll you at the school under our surname. As she teaches there, she’ll be able to keep an eye on you—and she knows the headmistress well. We hear that she is allowing other little girls like you to stay on.” He pauses. “Would you like that?”

Josie looks from Andrée, to Tina, to Louis, perplexed by what she has just heard.

“If you would accept, just temporarily until your Maman and brother return, being called Joséphine Levallois, we would be honored to give you our name.”

“So you’re saying my name would be Josie Levallois?”

“Yes, Josie. We think it would be the safest thing to do, but you must agree to it, and we will understand if you don’t,” Andrée tells her.

“You would really let me use your name?”

“Absolutely, without hesitation,” Louis tells her.

“Yes. Thank you is all I can say. Thank you. I promise I will not let you down. I would be very proud to be called Joséphine Levallois,” Josie says, now wiping her cheeks with her sleeve.

“Is there anything more we can do for you?” Louis asks.

“Can I play the piano now?”

Chapter Five

The next morning, Andrée leaves the apartment and crosses the square once more, this time heading toward Josie’s school, to give her piano lessons. The school is barely ten years old, named after Camille Sée, the politician who, in 1880, introduced sweeping reforms to girls’ education in France. Its art deco facade is elegant and assured—a building that knows its own purpose. The school is girls-only, run with quiet authority by its founding headmistress, the formidable Marie-Thérèse Évrard.