“I know, Papa. And I’m sorry there isn’t more clarity. But I refuse to feel sorry that you were not fathered by Didier Palomar.” She took out her phone and navigated to the pictures they’d developed in the darkroom, scrolling to the shot of the tall, dark-haired soldier. “This was from a roll of film we found. He appears to be an American paratrooper. Now I wonder if he could be the one.”

Her father studied the small screen. “Lisette took this picture?”

“I think so, yes.”

“Is there a way to find out more about this man?”

She nodded. “We’re working on it. Finn has a whole historical inquiry class working on it.” She pressed a hand on his shoulder. “If people had known this about you when you were a boy, things would have been much different. They would not have accused you of being a traitor and the son of a Nazi lover. They would have been kinder to you.”

Her father’s face changed then, his eyes taking on a distant glaze as the color drained from his cheeks. She touched his arm in consternation. “What is it?”

He gave himself a small shake. “Probably nothing. But . . . a flicker of memory, perhaps. When I was very small, a stranger came to Sauveterre. He was tall and walked with a cane, and he spoke to my aunt in a language I didn’t understand.”

She caught her breath. “English? Was he speaking English?”

“Honestly, I can’t say. I was so very young, maybe four or five.” He sighed. “The past is the past. It happened. There is no point in wondering how my life would have unfolded if I’d known.”

“But . . .” She could tell there was something weighing on his mind. “Did you tell your cousin Petra about the results?”

“Of course. She was kind enough to agree to the test, and therefore I owe her the truth. She was the first one I called, even before I called you. At which point I am forced to tell you that you didn’t take my call, so I had to send a text message.” He wrinkled his nose. “You know how I feel about text messages. All those emotions and whatnot.”

“Emojis. What did Petra say?”

“She was not surprised. She always wondered why I was so dark when the rest of the family were all fair. Of course, I asked her if she knew who might have been my father, but she has no idea. And since there is no Palomar blood in my veins, I offered to deed Sauveterre to her.”

Camille gasped. “What do you mean, you offered her . . . ?”

“Sauveterre, the entire property, free and clear.”

Camille realized then how deep her father’s shame had run. He wanted nothing to do with Didier Palomar. “And?”

“And she laughed, and said she is eighty-two years old and has no use for a working farm with a falling-down house. She never had children, and her husband left her well off. I am going to pay her a monthly stipend, however, for the rest of her life.”