“Shot? You mean executed?”

“No. He was not given a proper trial. It was vigilante justice, but I imagine the outcome would have been the same if he’d been tried.”

“And Lisette witnessed the shooting,” Camille said.

“Was she a collaborator, too?” Julie asked. “Was your aunt Rotrude?”

“That, I do not know. I like to think they opposed the Nazis the way any self-respecting French citizen would. As for me, I grew up bearing the shame and guilt of my father’s deeds. And that is why the bullying happened. Kids at school hated me because they claimed my father was responsible for the hardship, torment, and death suffered by their families during the war.”

Camille went to his side and took his hand. “I can’t believe you never told me any of this.”

“No one enjoys speaking of things they’re ashamed of,” he said quietly.

“It’s not your shame,” Camille objected. “It was his—Didier.”

“Mom’s right,” Julie said. “You weren’t even born when all that happened. You had nothing to do with the Nazi occupation, right?”

“I know it probably doesn’t make sense to you, but you must understand what it was like in Bellerive. A tiny village where everyone knows everyone else. The war was fresh in memory, and there were reminders all over—buildings reduced to rubble, bullet holes in walls, craters from bombs. My name was Palomar, and I was the heir to my father’s property. I was a reminder of the bitterness and tragedy caused by Didier Palomar. Imagine me in school, sitting next to a boy whose father had been hauled away and shot in the street on orders from my own father. I can’t say I would have behaved differently.”

“Seriously?” Julie’s eyes were wide with fear. “Your father ordered people to be shot?”

“So I was told. Some of the stories were likely apocryphal, but there is no denying that when the Germans occupied this town, Didier Palomar was their puppet, informing on his neighbors in order to show his support for the Nazis. And even though he paid the ultimate price, villagers still demanded justice. I was his flesh and blood, a living reminder of the things he had done.”

“This happened?” asked Camille, aghast. “Papa, that’s unbelievable.”

He steepled his fingers together and stared at the floor. “Palomar was regarded as a monster. It seemed half the families in town suffered from his many betrayals.”

“But that doesn’t make it right for kids to beat up on you,” Julie said.

He put his hand on hers. “We have already established this well-known fact—a bully acts on the flimsiest of reasons. Now, my dear one. Go and take a look at the ducklings. They hatched this morning. Your maman and I will get dinner started. Go, and we’ll talk of happier things over dinner.”

For some reason, Camille’s thoughts darted to Finn. She wanted to tell him about Didier Palomar and see if they could discover more details about the mayor of Bellerive. Finn had promised to visit the town to see if he could help her fill in the details of Lisette’s pictures. Now she wanted him to learn more about Didier—her grandfather, she thought with a lurching revulsion.