Echoes (25 page)

Daphne was already at home when she got back, and she was excited about a new boy she'd met in school. His father was in the army in Austria, and she said he was very handsome, with a twinkle in her eye, which made her mother laugh. The two of them had a quiet dinner that night. Daphne said she wanted to visit Amadea soon. They hadn't seen her in months. She was going to be taking her temporary vows again for the fourth time. She accepted Amadea being a Carmelite now as a matter of course. It was harder for Beata, who still hoped that one day she would change her mind. She had two more years before she took her final vows. It was the spring of 1941.

It was the following week that Beata went to the bank to take some money out for minor purchases. She wanted to buy some fabric for a few summer dresses for Daphne, and it was easier doing business in cash than writing checks, although there were fewer places to buy fabrics these days. All the stores she had patronized previously for those purposes had been run by Jews and were long since closed. She was thinking about what she needed when the bank teller handed her back her check, instead of cash.

“I'm sorry, madame,” he said coldly, “this check cannot be cashed.” There was obviously some mistake.

“I beg your pardon? Of course it can. I have more than adequate funds in that account to cover the check.” She smiled at him, and asked him to look it up again.

He handed the check back to her without checking anything. He knew he had read the notation correctly the first time. There was no mistaking those. The manager had made the notation himself, and the teller had no intention of challenging it. “Your account has been closed.”

“That's ridiculous. Of course it hasn't.” She was annoyed by their mistake, and about to ask for the bank manager, when she saw something in the young man's eyes. “By whom?”

“The Third Reich,” he said briskly, as she stared at him, opened her mouth, and closed it again. She put the check back in her handbag and turned around and walked out as quickly as she could. She knew exactly what that meant. Someone had reported her. All she could think of was Mina, her parents' former maid. She was the only one who knew. Or perhaps they had heard her call out “Miss Wittgenstein” and checked it out. However it had happened, they had closed her account, undoubtedly because someone knew that she was Jewish, and had been born a Jew. There was no other reason to close her account. Only Mina knew, although Beata had admitted nothing to her.

Beata walked quickly away from the bank, hailed a taxi on the street, and five minutes later she was home. She had no idea what to do, if she should wait to see what happened, or if they should leave immediately. And if they did, where would they go? She thought of the Daubignys, but she didn't want to endanger them either, no matter how sympathetic he said he was to the Jews. It was one thing to feel sorry for them, and another matter entirely to hide them. But maybe they could stay there for one night and he could advise her what to do. She had no passport, and she knew that she and Daphne would never be able to cross the borders. Besides which, she now had no money, except for what she had left with him previously, which she didn't want to use. The girls might need it later. Beata tried to fight waves of panic, as she took out two suitcases and began packing. She put her jewelry and some clothes for herself into one of them. And then she went into Daphne's room, and was throwing things into the suitcase when Daphne came home from school. The moment she saw her mother's face, she knew that something terrible had happened.

“Mama, what are you doing?” she asked, looking frightened. She had never seen her mother look like that. There was raw terror on her face. Beata had always feared this day would come, and now it had.

“We're leaving. Give me anything you want that will fit in this one case.” Her hands were shaking while she packed.

“Why? What happened? Mama… please …” Without even knowing why, Daphne started to cry. Her mother turned to look at her then, and the compounded griefs of twenty-five years showed in her eyes.

“I was born Jewish. I converted to marry your father. No one knew. I've kept it a secret for all these years. I didn't mean to, but once they started going after the Jews, I had to. I saw a woman at the bank last week who knew me when I was young. She called out my maiden name across the bank lobby. When I went back today, they had closed my account. We have to leave now. I think they're going to arrest us …”

“Oh, Mama… they can't …” Daphne's eyes filled instantly with panic and shock.

“They will. Hurry. Pack. I want to leave this afternoon.” There was desperation in her voice as Daphne tried to take it all in. It was a lot to swallow at one gulp.

“Where will we go?” She wiped her eyes, trying to be brave.

“I don't know. I haven't figured that out. Maybe we can stay with the Daubignys for one night, if they let us. After that we will have to work it out.” They could be on the run for years. But better that than caught.

“What about the convent? Can we go there?” Daphne's eyes were wide as she started putting random items into her suitcase. None of it made any sense. It was too much to absorb for a girl of sixteen, or anyone. They were about to leave their home, possibly for good. It was the only home Daphne had ever known. They had lived there since she was two.

“I don't want to risk Amadea or the nuns,” Beata said tersely.

“Does she know? About you, I mean.”

“I told her after Kristallnacht. They took my family then, and I thought she should know.”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“I thought you were too young. You were only thirteen.” As she said the words, there was a knock on the door. The two women looked at each other in terror, and Beata looked her daughter in the eyes with unexpected strength. “I love you. Remember that. That's all that matters. Whatever happens, we have each other.” She wanted to tell her to hide, but wasn't sure if that was the right thing. There was a frantic knocking on the door again, as Daphne stood there and cried. This was the worst day of her life.

Beata tried to regain her composure and walked to the front door. When she opened it, there were two soldiers and an SS officer standing there. It was all that she had feared. Now she wanted to tell Daphne to hide, but it was too late. She was standing in the bedroom doorway watching them.

“You're under arrest,” he said in a terrifying voice. “Both of you,” he said, glancing at Daphne. “As Jews. Your bank reported you. Come with us now.” Beata was shaking from head to foot, and Daphne screamed.

“Daphne, don't,” Beata shouted to her. “We'll be all right.” She turned back to the officer then. “May we bring anything with us?”

“You may bring one suitcase each. You are being deported.”

Beata had already packed the bags. She went to get hers, and told Daphne to bring the bag they had just packed in her room. Daphne looked completely panicked as her mother took her in her arms and held her tight.

“We have to do this. Be strong. Remember what I told you. I love you. We have each other.”

“Mama, I'm so scared.”

“Come now!” the officer shouted, and sent the two men to get them. A moment later, Daphne and Beata were escorted out of the house, carrying their bags, their fate and destination unknown.

15

T
HE PRIEST FROM
B
EATA'S PARISH CAME TO SEE THE
Mother Superior at the convent two days later. He had heard it from Beata's maid, who had come to him in tears. She had been out when it happened. The neighbors had told her what they'd seen. He thought Amadea should know. He wasn't sure why they had been taken, but he knew they had. Before coming to see her, he had done some quiet checking himself. According to his sources, Beata and her youngest daughter had been taken to the marshaling station outside Cologne. Normally they kept people there for weeks or even months. But there had been a train leaving for Ravensbrück, the women's camp, that afternoon, and they were put on it. They were already gone.

The Mother Superior listened in silence to what he said, and impressed on him the importance of his silence. But she knew that in a very short time, others would know. There were people in the parish who knew that Amadea had become a Carmelite six years before. There was no question in her mind that this was a very serious situation, and after thinking about it, once the priest had left, she opened a drawer, took out a letter, and made a single call. Beata had sent her a letter with a name and a phone number months before. It was for an event such as this. Without panicking unduly, or giving in to hysteria, Beata had tried to anticipate the worst. And now the worst had come. It was hard to believe they had been lucky for this long. Or so very unlucky in the end.

After she hung up, the Mother Superior bent her head in prayer, and then sent for Amadea. She had been working in the garden, and she looked happy when she walked in.

“Yes, Reverend Mother?” She couldn't imagine why she'd called her to her office. She was still looking slightly disheveled from her work in the garden.

“Sister Teresa, please sit down.” She took a breath, and hoped that God would help her find the right words. This was no easy task. “As you know, these are hard times. For everyone. And God makes choices for us that we don't understand. We simply have to follow His paths, without questioning His ways.”

Amadea looked at her, suddenly worried. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Not at all,” she said, reaching a hand across her desk and taking Amadea's hand in hers. “I have some very hard news for you. Someone denounced your mother. She and your sister were arrested two days ago. They were sent to Ravensbrück yesterday. That's all I know. They were all right when they were last seen.” But they both knew that the two women were unlikely to stay that way. Ravensbrück was a women's camp where the women were worked to death, and dropped like flies. No one returned. Amadea could hardly breathe as she heard the news. Her mouth flew open, and no sound came out. “I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry. But now we must decide what to do with you. Whoever denounced her knows about you. And if not, someone does. I do not want you at risk here.” Amadea nodded in silence, and then thought instantly of the others. But all she could think of now was her mother and sister, and how terrible it must have been for them, how frightened they must have been. Daphne was only sixteen. She had been Amadea's baby since she was born. Tears rolled silently down her cheeks as she clutched the Mother Superior's hands, and the older woman walked around her desk and took her in her arms, as Amadea was engulfed in sobs. She couldn't even imagine it, it was so awful. “They're in God's hands,” she whispered. “All we can do is pray for them now.”

“I'll never see them again. Oh, Mother …I can't bear it …” She couldn't stop crying as the Mother Superior held her.

“Many survive.” But they both knew most didn't, and there was no way of knowing if Beata and Daphne would be among the lucky ones. And Daphne was so beautiful, God only knew what they would do to her. It didn't bear thinking.

The Mother Superior was thinking of Amadea now. She was her responsibility. And she couldn't send her to Holland as they had Sister Teresa Benedicta. Holland was occupied, and her presence in the convent there was already putting the sisters there at great risk. They couldn't take yet another danger in. Besides which, they'd never get Amadea across the border. Sister Teresa Benedicta had gone to Holland before the war began. Everything was different now. There was no way of getting Amadea out, which was why she had made the call she had. She had no other choice. He had agreed to come within the hour.

“I am going to ask you to do something very difficult,” the Mother Superior said sadly, “for your sake, as well as ours. I have no other choice.” Amadea was still too overwrought over what she had heard about her mother and sister to absorb much more, but she nodded and turned sad eyes to the older nun. “I am going to ask you to leave us, just for now. If you stay here, it could put the whole convent at risk. When this is over, when life is normal again, you will come back. I know you will. I have never doubted your vocation for an instant. Because of that, I am asking you to do this. You will still be one of us, even in the outside world, wherever you are. Nothing will change.” She had professed her temporary vows four times so far. She was due to do so again in two months. She was two years away from final vows. And this was yet another blow. She had lost her mother and sister, perhaps forever, and now she was being sent away. But even in her distraught state, she knew it was the right thing. It was a sacrifice she could make for them. As the Mother said, she had no other choice, nor did they. Amadea nodded her head.

“Where will I go?” Amadea asked in a broken voice. She had not been outside the convent walls in six years. She had no place to stay, nowhere to go.

“Your mother sent me a letter several months ago. With the name of a friend. I called him a few minutes ago. He said he would be here within the hour.”

“So soon?” She knew without asking who it was. He was her mother's only friend, and she had told Amadea as well to contact Gérard Daubigny if something went wrong. She had even said he had money for her. But she couldn't put them at risk either. She was a danger to everyone. “Will I be able to say goodbye to the others?” The Mother Superior hesitated and then nodded. It would have been too cruel to her and to them otherwise. She rang the bell after that, which warned the sisters that something important had happened, and they were to gather in the dining hall. They were all there when Amadea and the Mother Superior walked in. All the familiar faces, all the nuns she had worked with, lived with, and loved for so long. The young ones, and the older ones, even the ones in wheelchairs. It was agonizing for her thinking of leaving them. But the Mother Superior was right. She had no choice. Wherever she went, to whichever convent, or if they kept her here, she presented a danger for the others. She loved them too much to do that to them. She had to leave them. But as the Mother Superior had said, she knew she would come back one day. This was the life she wanted. This was her home. She knew with utter certainty that she had been born to be a Carmelite, and serve God, in whatever way He chose.