Echoes (26 page)

Mother Teresa Maria Mater Domini offered no explanation. She said nothing. Even knowing the circumstances of Amadea's departure could be dangerous for them. If the police came afterward, they knew nothing. And the fact that she had left exonerated them. If anyone paid a price, it would be the Mother Superior and no one else. Amadea simply moved along their ranks, hugging and kissing each one of them, and saying “God bless you, Sister” softly to each one. It was all she said, but watching her do it, they all knew she was going, just as they had known when Sister Teresa Benedicta had left them three years before.

It took her half an hour to say good-bye to them, and she did not return to her cell to pick up her things. She had nothing to take with her. She had brought nothing and would leave with nothing. And now she had to go back out into a world she no longer understood and hadn't seen in so long. A world in which her mother and her sister no longer lived, where she had no home, and no belongings, and no one. All she had was her father's friend, and as she waited in the Mother Superior's office for him, he arrived, with grave eyes. Gérard Daubigny walked into the office and took Amadea gently in his arms.

“I'm so sorry, Amadea,” he whispered. It was beyond thinking that Beata and Daphne were gone. And given what he had heard of the camps, he thought it unlikely they would survive. But he said nothing to her of that now.

“What will I do?” she said softly to him, as he looked at her. He had forgotten how beautiful she was, and she was more so now. Even in her sadness, there was a luminous look to her, a great depth to her eyes. She seemed to be lit from within, and he could see she was a deeply holy person. It seemed a tragedy for her to come out, and a great loss to her, along with the others she had just sustained. He had no idea how she would adapt to the world after so long. The Mother Superior was worried about that as well. Amadea looked shell-shocked as she looked at him.

“We'll talk about that tonight,” he said quietly. They had much to talk about. They had opened the convent gates for him, and he had driven his car behind the convent walls. He wanted her to lie on the floor of his car, with a blanket over her, so no one would see her leave. No one would suspect that he was leaving the convent with one of the nuns. And if they came for her at some point, the Mother Superior could simply say she was gone. She owed them no more explanation than that, nor would she offer one. By then she herself would have no idea where Amadea was. Although they would keep her constantly in their prayers until she returned.

“You must dress now,” the Mother Superior reminded her. Amadea disappeared into the robing room a moment later. She felt as though she were peeling her skin away as she took her habit off. Each piece of it was like a part of her, and she stood alone in the room, looking at it carefully folded on the table. They had left a coat and shoes and dress for her, a small ugly hat, and some underwear.

None of the clothes fit when she put them on, but it didn't matter to her. Nothing mattered. Her mother and Daphne were gone, in God's hands now, wherever they were, and she was leaving the place where she had sought refuge six years before, where she had lived and worked and grown. It was like leaving the womb, as she buttoned the dress that was too short for her, with the shoes that were too tight. She had worn sandals for six years, and it felt strange to wear shoes again. She was surprised to find how thin she was, as she put on normal clothes again. She had had no sense of it in her habit, and her hair was shorn as it had been for six years. She felt like a monster in the ugly outfit, after the simple beauty of her habit. She longed to put it on again, and wondered how long it would be before she came back to them. She could only pray now it would be soon. She had no desire to go back into the world, in fact, she would have done anything possible to avoid it.

Gérard was waiting for her in the courtyard, standing anxiously beside his car. He wanted to get back to the
Schloss
as soon as possible. He had already spoken to Véronique about it, and she was in full agreement. It was something they could do for Beata and Antoine who had been good friends to them, although this went beyond the bounds of friendship. But this was about more than that. It was about what was right, and so much these days wasn't. In fact, nothing was.

He was standing talking quietly to the Mother Superior, and the others had gone back to work. No one saw them as Amadea got into the car and lay on the floor in the back, as he put a horse blanket over her, that smelled of the stables, but it was a happy memory for Amadea. Before he covered her, she looked at the Mother Superior for a last time, and the two women's eyes met and held.

“God bless you, my child. Don't worry. You will be home soon. We'll be waiting for you.”

“God bless you, Mother…I love you…”

“I love you, too,” she whispered, as Gérard gently covered her, thanked the somber-looking nun, who stood watching him, as he backed slowly out of the courtyard, and drove to the
Schloss
without stopping. He drove at normal speed, as though he were doing nothing special, and kept his eye on the rearview mirror. They had given him a large basket of fruit and vegetables, to explain why he had come there. But no one followed him. They were not going to go to great lengths to look for a young nun. And even if the police came to inquire about her, they would soon forget about her. She was no great danger to them, and they knew it. Nor were Beata and Daphne, but once they were denounced, the Gestapo had no choice but to do something about it. In Beata's case, there was money and a house to be taken. Amadea had nothing except the clothes she had on her back, and the rosary beads the Mother Superior had given her as she left the convent.

He drove into the courtyard of the
Schloss
and around to the back of the house. It was lunchtime, and no one was around. Everyone was either eating or busy, when he escorted Amadea to their bedroom. Véronique was waiting for her there, and as she took the young woman into her arms, they both sobbed for all that had been lost, all the horror that had happened. Gérard quietly locked the bedroom door. He had already told the maids that his wife had a sick headache and no one was to disturb her. They had a lot to talk about. A lot to figure out. But for now, Amadea had to recover from the multiple shocks she had sustained that morning. She had lost everything. Her mother. Her sister. And the convent. She had lost the only way of life she had known for the past six years, and all the familiar people and landmarks of her childhood. She cried as though her heart would break, and had, as Véronique Daubigny held her.

16

G
ÉRARD AND
V
ÉRONIQUE TALKED TO
A
MADEA LONG INTO
the night. They waited until the servants left in the evening and went to their own quarters, and then Véronique went down to the kitchen herself and cooked Amadea dinner. She could barely eat it. She hadn't touched meat in six years, and she felt completely at a loss, staring at the sausages and eggs Véronique had cooked her. More than that, she felt naked without her habit. She was still wearing the ill-fitting clothes they had given her at the convent. But that was the least of her problems. Gérard had been thinking about what to do with her all evening.

He and Véronique were in full agreement. They couldn't keep her forever, but for now at least, for as long as they could, they wanted to hide her. There was a locked storeroom with a small window high up in one of the towers, and Gérard was convinced that no one would find her there. She could come down to their rooms at night, for air and space, and the rest of the time, in the daytime, she could stay there. There was even a tiny bathroom.

“But what will they do to you, if they find me?”

“They won't,” Gérard said simply. For the moment, it was the best plan they could think of, and she was grateful to them.

She had a bath in Véronique's bathroom that night, and afterward she was startled when she saw herself in the mirror. She had not seen herself in six years, and she was surprised to see herself look so much older. In six years she had become a woman. Her pale blond hair was short. She cut it herself each month, without looking, and it looked it, not that it mattered to her. It didn't. It was a travesty for her to be out in the world. She knew with her entire being that she belonged in the convent. But this was her gift to them, to go out into the world so she did not risk them. It was a small price to pay for their safety, a sacrifice she was willingly making. Not to mention the sacrifice the Daubignys were making for her.

Véronique had gone through her closets to find something for her to wear. She had found a long blue skirt, a white blouse, and a sweater. They were almost exactly the same size, and she had put out underwear and a pair of red sandals. Amadea felt sinful wearing it. It all looked much too pretty. But she was fulfilling her vows, she told herself as she put the clothes on. She was being obedient to the Mother Superior. She had told her to go out in the world again until she could come back, without risking her sisters. But her heart felt heavy as Gérard walked her up to the tower. He had pulled a mattress out of another storeroom and laid it on the floor, with a pillow and a stack of blankets.

“See you tomorrow,” he said gently, as he closed and locked the door, and she lay down on the mattress. They were being so kind to her. She lay there awake, praying for her mother and sister for the rest of the night. She spent the next day in prayer, as she would have in the convent. He came once during the day to bring her food and water. At night, he unlocked the door again and led her back down to their bedroom, where she bathed again, and Véronique once more cooked her dinner.

It became a daily ritual for them all through the summer. Her hair had grown down to her shoulders by September. She looked as she had when she went into the convent, only slightly older. There had been no news from her mother or sister. She knew that sometimes they were allowed to send a postcard to reassure their relatives and loved ones, but there had been none, neither from Beata nor Daphne. Gérard had checked with the convent. No card had come for Amadea. And mercifully, the authorities hadn't inquired about her either. Amadea had simply vanished, and been forgotten.

On the war front, the Nazis had invaded Russia that summer. There had been mass murders of Jews in occupied countries, and new concentration camps were under construction, and being opened. Gérard told her during one of their long conversations at night that all German Jews had been ordered to wear armbands with yellow stars on them, in September. They had begun a mass deportation of German Jews to all the concentration camps they'd established.

The Daubignys had hidden Amadea for five months by then, and so far no one seemed the wiser. Everything at the
Schloss
continued as normal. Gérard and Véronique saw no reason not to continue hiding her, although all three of them knew that if they were caught, they would be either shot or deported. But when she offered to leave them, they insisted that she stay with them. They had no children of their own. This was a risk they were choosing to take for her, and in memory of her parents.

Amadea knew there had to be Jews hiding in other places, and she said that if she had to, she'd find them. They both insisted that that was out of the question, and for lack of any other solution, she agreed to stay with them. She had nowhere else to go.

Things continued as they had for the next several months, and Amadea was shocked when Gérard opened her door one night to let her out, and told her about Pearl Harbor. The United States declared war on Japan and four days later on Hitler, after he had declared war on them. By then, Amadea had not been out of the building in eight months, and it was strange to realize that it was almost Christmas. She had nothing to celebrate that year, except the Daubignys' kindness in letting her stay there.

Two days before Christmas, Gérard looked deeply upset when he came to let her out of her cell, and she could tell that something had happened. She had heard noise outside all day, and the sounds of horses. He told her that the Gestapo had taken over the stables, and commandeered most of their horses. He was concerned that they would try to take over the
Schloss
as well. The
Kommandant
had said that he wanted a full tour of the premises shortly after Christmas. In the meantime, they were busy. But all three of them agreed that Amadea was no longer safe there. Before the Germans began to explore every nook and cranny, they had to find her another refuge. Gérard had been making discreet inquiries, and he had heard of a farmhouse nearby where they were concealing Jews in an underground tunnel. But getting her there wouldn't be easy. Up till now, they had been remarkably lucky. But with the German army camped on their doorstep, she was once again in grave danger.

“You've been so good to me,” she said to both of them, as they shared a Christmas goose on Christmas Eve in the kitchen. All she could think about, as she picked at it, was if her mother and sister were still alive then. There had been no message from them since they were taken to Ravensbrück in April. Sometimes when they arrived at the camps, deportees were allowed to send a single postcard, and Beata would have sent hers to the Daubignys so they could pass the word to Amadea. None had come.

It was the day after Christmas, before dawn, that Gérard opened her door, looking grim-faced. The
Kommandant
had told him the night before that he wanted a full inspection tour the next morning. So far, Gérard was sure he suspected nothing. But in the morning, he would be unlocking every door, from the wine cellar to the tower. They had already helped themselves to a dozen cases of wine, and two barrels of cognac.

Gérard had the information Amadea needed. He knew where the farmhouse was, with the tunnel, and told her that they'd be waiting for her. He handed her a small map and explained how to get there.

“How will I find it?” she asked, looking worried, and realizing again how lucky she had been to be there since April. Now she had to take her chances. The farm was fifteen miles away, over rough countryside. If she could get there, they were willing to hide her. First, she had to get past the soldiers in the stables. Gérard said it was too dangerous to drive her. It would draw attention to the farm if he drove there, and they had asked him not to.