Echoes

5

ANTOINE AND BEATA'S WEDDING DAY REMAINED A MAGI-cal memory not only for them but for everyone who had seen them. Her wedding gown was talked about in the village for months. Maria helped her put it away carefully in a box filled with tissue. She pressed some of the flowers she had carried in her bouquet. And after thinking about it for several days, she decided to write to her mother and sister. She knew that Brigitte would be in Berlin by then, and she wanted to share with her how lovely her own wedding had been, and to tell her that she still loved her. She wanted to tell her mother that she was well, and was sorry that the day she left had been so dreadful, and how much she thought about her and missed her on her wedding day.

Two weeks after she'd written to them, her letters came back to her, unopened. The one to Brigitte had nothing personal written on it. It was simply sent back with a stamp on it that said “addressee unknown.” It told Beata that even while in Berlin Brigitte was not willing to defy their father. And the letter to her mother was returned with her father's meticulous penmanship on it, saying to return the letter to sender. They wanted no contact with her. It took her two days of silent tears to admit to Antoine what had happened.

“It's still fresh,” he said quietly. “Give it time. You can write to them again in a few months. By then, things will have calmed down,” he said with confidence. He had not written to his own parents, he was still angry at the position they had taken. And he had no desire to communicate with his brother either. But he was older than Beata and far angrier than she.

“You don't know my father,” Beata said miserably. “He will never forgive me. He said that he and Mama were going to sit shiva for me.” She explained to Antoine what that meant, it was the vigil for the dead, which shocked him profoundly. “I just wanted to tell Mama and Brigitte about the wedding, and that I love them.” She wouldn't have dared write to her father. But even writing to the women in the family had gotten her nowhere. They were all too respectful of him and too afraid of him to defy him. Only she had dared to do that. And she knew he would never forgive her for it. She hoped the others would.

Antoine did his best to comfort her, and they made love every night like proper newlyweds. They made every effort to be quiet so as not to disturb the Zubers, but they were undeniably living in close quarters, so much so that Maria heard Beata vomiting in the bathroom early one morning six weeks after the wedding.

“Are you all right?” Maria asked through the door, sounding worried. The men had left the house at dawn, and the two women were alone. Beata had been about to go out to milk the cows when a wave of nausea overwhelmed her. She was green when she walked into the kitchen ten minutes later and sat down.

“I'm sorry. It must have been something I ate. Antoine picked all those blackberries for me yesterday. I already felt sick last night,” Beata said, sitting down in one of the kitchen chairs and obviously feeling awful. “I didn't want to hurt his feelings and tell him.”

“Are you sure it's the blackberries?” Maria asked kindly. She was not at all surprised to see Beata looking so ill. And in fact, it made her hopeful.

“I think so.” She asked Beata a few pertinent questions then, and laughed at the innocent young woman's answers.

“If memory serves, my dear, I think you're pregnant.”

“Do you?” Beata looked astonished, which made Maria smile broadly.

“Yes, I do. Why don't you wait until you're sure to tell your husband.” There was no point worrying him unduly or getting his hopes up. Men were odd about things like that, Maria knew. It was better to tell them once one was certain.

“And when will that be? When would I be sure enough to tell him?”

“In another week or two, if nothing happens, and you continue to feel poorly. You'll know soon enough.” Beata was smiling to herself as she went to milk the cows, and that afternoon she was so exhausted she came back to the house after her chores and slept for two hours before dinner.

“Is Beata all right?” Antoine asked Maria with a look of concern when he got home. His bride was usually so lively, and all she seemed to do was sleep now. He wondered if it was because he kept her up late, making love to her at night, but lying next to her, he found it impossible to keep his hands off her.

“She's fine. She's been out in the sun all day. I had her picking fruit for me,” Maria said discreetly. But in addition to covering for her recent nausea and sleepiness, Maria was finding her to be a hard worker, and the younger woman was truly helpful to her.

Beata was certain herself about her pregnancy within two weeks, when nothing had happened to convince her otherwise, and even at this early stage she could no longer button her waistband. And she was constantly nauseous. She was taking a walk with Antoine one Sunday afternoon, on the way home from church, when she smiled up at him mysteriously, and he beamed down at her, wondering what she was thinking. Life in close proximity to her was a constant, delicious mystery for him.

“You look like a woman with a secret,” he said, smiling down at her proudly. He loved being married to her, and thinking ahead to their future together.

“I'll share it with you,” she said softly, tucking a hand into his arm. They had decided to walk to church instead of driving. The weather was still beautiful, it was the end of August, and as closely as she and Maria could figure it, she was two months pregnant. She was sure she had gotten pregnant on their wedding night, and Antoine suspected nothing. “We're having a baby,” she said, looking up at him, her eyes full of wonder, as he stared at her and stopped walking.

“Are you serious? How did that happen?” he asked in amazement, and she laughed at him.

“Well, when we go home, I'll explain it to you, or maybe I should just show you how we did it, to remind you.” She was teasing him, and he laughed with her, feeling foolish.

“That's not what I meant, although I'd be happy for the reminder anytime, Madame de Vallerand.” He loved saying her name now, and so did she. It seemed to suit her. “I meant when, and how do you know, and are you sure, and when is it coming?” And then suddenly, he looked worried. “Should you be walking?”

“Would you like to carry me home?” she asked sweetly, and then giggled at him. “I'm fine, although I've felt a bit sick lately, but Maria says that's normal. I remember hearing about girls I know who were dreadfully ill for several months. They couldn't even leave their bedrooms.” But in the healthy atmosphere they lived in, leading a quiet life, Beata was sure that the nausea would pass quickly. It was already a little better. The first weeks had been truly awful. But now she was so excited at the thought of what was happening to her that she didn't mind it. “I think it happened on our wedding night, which means that we should have a lovely baby at the beginning of April. Perhaps in time for Easter.” Out of habit, she had almost said Passover, but instead said Easter. In the Catholic faith, it was a time for resurrection and rebirth, and seemed a perfect time to her, and it would be nice to be able to take the baby out in the summer. It seemed better than having to bundle it up and keep it inside in the winter. To her, the timing was perfect. And Antoine was beside himself with excitement. He made her slow down, and not walk with such determination. If she had let him, he would have carried her home on his shoulders. And she could see that he was a little worried. He wasn't sure if he should make love to her anymore, and didn't want to hurt her. She assured him that everything was fine, and they could go on as normal.

But for the next several months, Antoine kept a constant eye on her. He came back to the house as often as possible to check on her, and he did most of her chores for her, although she insisted that there was no need to.

“Antoine, you don't have to do that, I'm fine. It's good for me to have exercise and stay busy.”

“Who said so?” He finally took her to a doctor in Lausanne, just to reassure himself that everything was normal. The doctor reassured them both that everything was proceeding just as it should. The only thing Beata regretted frequently was that she couldn't share the news with her mother. She had tried one more letter, which had come back to her this time even more quickly. She was entirely sealed off from her family. The only family she had now was Antoine and the Zubers and, in a few months, their baby.

By Christmas, at nearly six months, Beata was enormous. She was so tiny ordinarily that the addition of a growing baby to her small frame made her look far more pregnant than she was. By the end of January, she looked as though she was having the baby any minute, and Antoine hardly let her leave the house now. He was afraid she would slip and fall on the ice and snow and miscarry. And at night, he loved lying beside her and feeling the baby kick him. He thought it was a boy, and Beata hoped it was, but Antoine insisted it didn't really matter to him. It just seemed like a boy to him because it was so gigantic. Beata was healthy and in good spirits, but she could hardly move now. She had made some clothes that accommodated her growing form, and as always Maria was astonished by her sewing talent. She made some tops and skirts and dresses from old scraps of fabric she had lying around, and even a very stylish coat from a red plaid horse blanket Walther gave her. She looked young and beautiful and healthy. And when she went to church on Sundays, Father André was delighted to see her.

More than anything, Antoine was worried about who would deliver the baby. He thought about taking her to Geneva or Lausanne to have it in a hospital there, but the reality was he couldn't afford it. There was a doctor thirty miles away, but he had no telephone, and neither did the Zubers, and when the time came, there would be no way to reach him. Driving there and back would probably take longer than delivering the baby. Beata insisted she wasn't worried about it. Maria had given birth to her own children at home, and had gone to France to be with one of her daughters when she delivered. She had sat with friends over the years, and even without any official training, she was an experienced midwife. Both women felt assured that they could handle whatever happened. Or at least that was what Beata said. She didn't want to worry Antoine, but she admitted to Maria several times that she was frightened as well. She knew virtually nothing about having a baby, and the bigger it got, the more she worried.

“It won't happen till you're ready,” Maria said confidently. “Babies know just when to come. They don't come when you're tired or sick or upset. They wait until you're feeling ready to greet them.” It sounded overly optimistic to Beata, but in the face of Maria's calm, sensible ways, she was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt and believe her.

And much to her own surprise, in the last days of March, Beata found she had renewed energy. She even went to milk the cows one day, and when he found out that night, Antoine scolded her soundly.

“How can you be so foolish? What if one of them kicked you, and hurt the baby? I want you to stay home every day, and take it easy.” It worried him considerably that he could provide no comforts or safe facility for her. He could do nothing to make this easier for her, and even though she was always a good sport about it, Beata was no farm girl. She had been brought up in the lap of luxury and was a delicate city girl. From what he could gather, she had never caught a cold without seeing a doctor. And now he was expecting her to deliver a baby in a cottage in the Alps, without even the help of a nurse or a doctor.

He wrote to a friend in Geneva and asked him to send him a book on midwifery. He read it at night surreptitiously after Beata went to sleep, hoping that he could learn something that would help her. And as the final days of her pregnancy went by, he grew increasingly nervous. If nothing else, her tiny frame panicked him. What if the baby was too big to be born? There was a chapter in the book about cesarean sections, which could only be performed by a doctor. And even then both mother and infant's lives were in jeopardy, and the book admitted that often births of that nature ended in disaster. Antoine couldn't imagine anything more terrifying than losing Beata. And he didn't want to lose their baby either. It was impossible to believe that a baby of the size she was carrying could emerge successfully from such a tiny mother. Beata seemed to be growing smaller and the baby bigger by the hour.

He was sleeping fitfully the night of March 31, when he heard Beata get up and go to the bathroom.

She had grown so huge that she was wearing Maria's enormous nightgowns, which were big enough to accommodate her and the baby. She came back to bed with a yawn after a few minutes.

“Are you all right?” he whispered, looking worried. He didn't want to wake the Zubers.

“I'm fine.” She smiled sleepily at him, and settled back in bed on her side, with her back to him. She couldn't lie on her back anymore. The baby was so heavy that it made her feel as though she were suffocating. He put his arms around her, with a hand resting gently on her enormous belly and, as always, felt the baby kick him.

Antoine couldn't go back to sleep again, and this time Beata couldn't either. She turned awkwardly from one side to the other, and finally lay facing him, and he kissed her.

“I love you,” he whispered again.

“I love you, too,” she said happily, looking beautiful and contented, as her long dark hair lay spread out on her pillow. She turned her back to him then, confessed that it ached, and asked him to rub it, which he was happy to do for her, and as always he marveled at her tiny body. The only part of her that was huge was her distended belly. And as he rubbed her back, he heard her groan, which was unlike her.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked softly.

“No… I'm fine… it's nothing.” She didn't want to tell him she had been having pains since the night before. They seemed like nothing to her, and she thought it was indigestion, and now her back hurt. She was drifting back to sleep again, when he got up before dawn an hour later. He and Walther had a lot of work to do that day, and they had planned to get an early start. Beata was still dozing when he left the house with Walther, as Maria moved quietly around the kitchen.

Beata didn't emerge from their bedroom until two hours later, and when she did, she looked frightened, and came to find Maria in the kitchen. “I think some-thing's happening,” she whispered.

Maria smiled at her with a look of pleasure. “You're right on time. It's your nine-month anniversary today. Looks like we're going to have a baby.”

“I feel awful,” Beata confessed. Her back was killing her, and she felt violently nauseous, and she had a tremendous sense of downward pressure in her belly. She had the same nagging pains in her back and lower belly she'd had the night before, and it no longer felt like indigestion. “What's going to happen?” Beata looked panicked and like a child herself, as the older woman put a gentle arm around her and led her back to her bedroom.

“You're going to have a beautiful baby, Beata. That's all that will happen. I want you to lie down, and think about that. I'll be back in a minute.” She had put towels and old sheets aside for the delivery, and several tubs and washbasins, and she went to fetch them once she settled Beata back in her bed, looking anxious and wild-eyed.

“Don't leave me.”

“I'm just going out to the pantry. I'll be back in a minute.”

“Where's Antoine?” Beata was starting to panic as the first serious pain ripped through her. It caught her entirely by surprise-no one had ever told her it would be like that. It was like a butcher knife reaching up from her groin right through her belly. Her stomach felt hard as rock, and she couldn't catch her breath, as Maria held her.

“That's fine, that's fine. I'll be back in one second.” Maria ran to the kitchen, grabbed one of the tubs and began heating water, and with that she grabbed the towels and sheets she'd set aside and ran back to Beata. She was lying on her bed, looking dazed. The second pain hit her just as Maria came through the doorway, and this time Beata screamed in terror and reached out to the older woman. Maria gripped her hands, and told her not to push too soon. They had a long way to go before the baby was ready. If she pushed too early, she would exhaust herself too quickly. Beata allowed Maria to look then, but she could not see the baby. The pains she had had the night before had started things along, but the real work still lay ahead. Maria guessed that it would be many hours before Beata held her baby. She just hoped it would be easy for her. Sometimes when it was fast, it was worse, but then at least it was over. But as this was her first one, and the baby was large, Maria suspected it would be slow.

With the next pain, Beata's water broke, and flooded the towels Maria had put under her and around her. She carried them out to the kitchen and put more towels under her. But as Maria knew would happen, once her water had broken, the pains began with a vengeance. Within an hour, Beata was in agony as the pains rolled over her in waves, giving her only seconds to catch her breath between them. And when Antoine came in for lunch, before he even opened the door to the house, he heard her screaming, and came running.

“Is she all right?” he asked Maria with a look of terror.

“She's fine,” Maria said quietly. She didn't think he should be in the room, but he had walked right in, and instantly put a gentle arm around Beata.

“My poor baby… what can I do to help you?” At the sight of him, she began crying. She was terrified, but Maria staunchly refused to appear worried. The one thing she did know was that it was a big baby, but the force of the pains she was experiencing would help them. She was already in as much pain as most women when they were about to deliver, and each time Maria looked, there was no sign of the baby.

“Antoine…I can't…I can't…oh God… it's so awful…” She was gasping for air between pains, and Antoine was beside himself as he watched her.

“Go and have some lunch with Walther,” Maria said calmly, but Antoine wasn't moving.

“I'm not leaving,” he said firmly. He had done this to her, as far as he was concerned, and he was not going to leave her to face it without him, which seemed like an unusual approach to Maria. But it seemed to calm Beata a little to have him near her. She made every effort not to scream when the next pains came, and he watched her belly tighten. It was as hard as a rock when he felt it. Maria left them for a moment then, to see to Walther in the kitchen, and Antoine asked her to tell him he was going to stay with Beata until they had the baby safely delivered. She came back with a cool cloth, but it did nothing to help, as the pains continued to rip through her.

It went on that way for hours as Beata screamed endlessly. It was nearly sundown when Maria gave a victorious cry. She had finally seen the baby's head. She saw it now each time a pain came, and the patch of scalp and hair grew with each contraction. Maria and Antoine both encouraged her, but Beata no longer cared. She felt as though she was dying. She just continued to scream, barely pausing for breath. There was no relief now, as Maria told her to push as hard as she could. Beata's face contorted and turned purple as she pushed and nothing happened. Antoine couldn't believe what he was seeing, it was beyond awful, and he swore to himself and silently to her that they would never have another baby. He would never have put her through this if he had known what it would be like for her. She had been in labor all day and into the evening. And by seven o'clock, Antoine was desperate. Beata refused to push anymore, she just lay there and cried and said she couldn't.

“You have to,” the usually mild-mannered Maria shouted at her. She was watching the head come and go with each contraction, and she knew that if it took too long now, they would lose the baby. “Push!” she shouted so firmly that Beata obeyed her. “That's it! Push! Again!” She told Antoine to hold up her shoulders, and told Beata to brace her feet against the footboard. The sounds in the room were horrifying as Beata sounded as though she was being murdered. But as Antoine held her, the baby's head finally came halfway through, as Maria shouted at her to push again, and when she did this time, they heard a wail in the room that stunned them all. Beata was still screaming, but she looked at Antoine in amazement as she heard their baby. Maria told her to push again, and this time the shoulders were free, and with two more pushes, the baby lay on the bed, covered in blood, and wailing loudly. It was a girl.

The sheets around Beata were drenched with blood, and Maria saw she had lost a lot of it, but not so much that she was panicked. The baby was as enormous as they had suspected. And as Antoine and Beata watched, Maria expertly tied the cord in two places and cut it. She cleaned the baby quickly, wrapped her in a sheet, and handed her to her mother, as Antoine hovered over them, with tears pouring down his cheeks. He had never seen anything more beautiful than his wife at that moment and their baby daughter.

“I'm so sorry,” he said to her, sounding grief-stricken. “I'm so sorry it was so awful,” he said, as she put the baby to her breast and smiled up at her husband.

“It was worth it,” she said, smiling up at him, still looking exhausted and ravaged, but blissful. It was hard to believe that this was the same woman who had been screaming and in agony since early that morning. Beata looked worn out, but happy and peaceful. “She's so beautiful.”

“So are you,” he said as he touched her cheek ever so gently, and then touched the baby's. She was looking at both of them, and seemed interested to meet them. Beata kept her at her breast, and lay back against the pillows exhausted. No one had ever told her what to expect. She had been in no way prepared for the rigors of childbirth. She couldn't imagine why no one had ever told her. Women always seemed to speak of these things in hushed whispers, and now she knew why. Perhaps if the women had been honest with her, she wouldn't have had the courage to do it. Antoine still looked shaken.

They lay side by side in the bed, cooing and talking to their baby, and then Maria asked Antoine to leave the room and go and have some dinner and a brandy. He looked as though he could use it. It was after nine o'clock by then, and she wanted to clean up Beata, the baby, the bed, and the room. She invited him back an hour later, and he had never seen anything so peaceful. Beata was lying on clean sheets with combed hair, a clean face, and the baby sleeping in her arms. The scene of carnage and terror he'd witnessed all afternoon and evening had entirely vanished. And he smiled gratefully at Maria.

“You're amazing,” he said as he hugged her.

“No, you were. Both of you. I'm very proud of you. Your daughter weighs almost five kilos,” Maria said proudly, as though she had given birth to her herself, which she was relieved she hadn't. She had never seen anyone deliver such a big baby. And given Beata's size, it was even more impressive. There had been one or two frightening moments when she had been afraid she would lose them, but she had never let on to either of them that she was beginning to panic. Nearly five kilos was ten pounds. Even lying in her mother's arms she looked bigger than a newborn, and Maria had never seen prouder parents. “What are you going to call her?” she asked, as Walther peeked in from the doorway, and smiled at the handsome couple holding their new baby.

Beata and Antoine looked at each other. They had talked about names for months, and they had consistently been undecided about a girl's name. But as Beata saw her, she knew they had found the right one among their earliest suggestions.

“What do you think of Amadea?” she asked Antoine, and he considered it for a moment. He had originally thought of naming a girl Françoise after his own mother, but after how hateful she had been about his marrying Beata, he no longer felt right about using her name. They both knew Amadea meant “loved of God,” and she certainly was, as well as loved by both her parents.

“I like it. It suits her. She's such a big beautiful baby girl, she should have a special name. Amadea de Vallerand,” he said, trying it out, as Beata smiled. The baby stirred then and let out a small sound, halfway between a sigh and a gurgle, and all her admirers laughed. “She likes it, too.”

“That's it then,” Beata concluded. She looked like herself again, in such a short time after the birth. She looked as though she could have gotten up and waltzed around the room, although Antoine was grateful that she didn't. “Amadea,” she said, as she beamed at her firstborn daughter, and looked ecstatically at her husband. They looked like proud parents. And as Antoine held Beata close to him that night, he thought about all they'd been through that day, in utter amazement. And as Beata drifted off to sleep with the baby in a basket beside her, Antoine whispered a silent prayer of thanks for the miracle they had shared. Amadea. She was loved of God indeed and he prayed she always would be.