Echoes

6

AMADEA DE VALLERAND WAS NINETEEN MONTHS AND TEN days old when the war finally ended in 1918. She was blond and blue-eyed and tall for her age, and the delight of her parents and the Zubers. Maria knew that as soon as the war ended, the young family who had lived with them for two years would move on, and she would be sorry when they did. But they couldn't stay in Switzerland forever. Once their own countries were back on their feet, the Swiss would no longer offer them asylum.

By Christmas 1918 Antoine and Beata had had endless discussions as to whether to go back to Germany or France. His family was firmer than ever that they would not welcome his Jewish wife in Dordogne, and their half-Jewish daughter. They had been brutally unkind about it. It made no difference to them that Beata had converted and was now a Catholic. As far as they were concerned, she was a Jew, whether or not she had converted. Their doors remained closed to Antoine. And Beata had fared no better. Letters sent separately to both her parents were returned just as the earlier ones had been. And she got the same result when she wrote to Brigitte. She wondered if by now she too had had a baby. Beata was open to the idea of having another one, and they had done nothing to prevent it. She was surprised that so far nothing had happened, since Amadea had been conceived so quickly. But for the moment, they were happy with Amadea. She was running everywhere, and chattering a mile a minute in her own language. The Zubers were enjoying her as much as any grandchild, and already knew how much they would miss her when they left.

In the end, it was February when Antoine received a letter that made the decision for them as to where they would go. A friend of his from Saumur, the cavalry academy where he had trained in the military, wrote to him and said that he had bought a splendid Schloss in Germany for pennies, and it had remarkable albeit crumbling stables. The friend's name was Gérard Daubigny, and he wanted to rebuild them. He was going to restore the Schloss for himself and his family, and he wanted Antoine to take charge of the stables and do whatever he deemed necessary to rebuild them, fill them with the finest horses money could buy, hire trainers and grooms, and run them. He knew that Antoine was an incomparable horseman and an equally talented judge of horseflesh. He knew about the injury to his arm, and Antoine had assured him that it didn't hamper him. He was able to use it adequately, although it had never healed completely. As a result, he was even more adept with his right one, enough so to compensate for his crippled left arm.

Coincidentally, the Schloss Gérard had bought was near Cologne, and although Beata's family had shown no sign that they would welcome them, it was always possible that if they lived nearby, they might relent eventually. And perhaps in time, some rapprochement could be encouraged. But the proximity of the Wittgensteins did not influence Antoine's decision. The salary Daubigny offered him was irresistible, and it was a job he knew he would enjoy. There was supposedly a lovely house on the grounds, which Gérard offered him. It was big enough for all three of them and several more children. Antoine accepted the offer by the end of February, and agreed to arrive at the Schloss in early April. It gave Antoine time to wrap things up at the farm, and do all he could to help Walther. The home the Zubers had given them for more than two years had literally saved them. Without them, Antoine and Beata wouldn't have survived the war, or certainly not together, nor would they have been able to marry when they did, or provide a home for Amadea. Both of them had been left penniless when their families banished them. And now, the job Antoine had been offered in Germany would save them.

Beata spent many nights before they left the farm teaching Antoine German, although his employer was French. But the grooms and trainers he would have to hire and the builders he would use for the restoration would all be German. He needed to know the language, and he was not overly skilled at it. But by the time they left, he was nearly fluent. And they had long since agreed that Antoine would speak to Amadea in French, and Beata in German. They wanted their daughter to be completely bilingual. And in time, Beata was determined to add English. If they could afford it once in Germany, Beata wanted to hire a young English girl to help her, so Amadea would also be fluent in English. She and Antoine both agreed that languages were always useful.

Their financial situation was far from secure, although the salary he'd been offered was respectable. And the job he was going to was something Antoine loved and did well. The opportunity they'd been offered was a great blessing. And Beata was thinking of doing some sewing for some of the elegant women she had known, if they were interested. And she hoped that, in an indirect way, it might be a conduit back to her mother.

Antoine also mentioned that Madame Daubigny had a great deal of money. It was undoubtedly her money that Gérard was using to do the restoration of the Schloss, as he had very little himself. He was from an aristocratic family that had been impoverished even before the war. Véronique's family had a considerable fortune. And Gérard had promised Antoine he could buy all the horses he wanted. They were starting a new life.

The Daubignys and Beata had never met, and they had no idea who she'd been before she married Antoine. She and Antoine discussed it and decided it was simpler if they didn't know she'd been Jewish. It was a piece of her history, and theirs, that they decided to keep to themselves. They felt private about that, and their family difficulties before they married. Without the Wittgensteins in their lives, there was no need to explain that Beata had been born Jewish, and she certainly didn't look it. Nor did Amadea. She was as blond and blue-eyed as babies came, and she had perfect cameo features like her mother. Beata's fam-ily's rejection of her was still a source of great sorrow and shame to her, and she didn't want anyone to know.

All five of them cried the day the Vallerands left the Zubers. Even Amadea wailed miserably as she held her arms out to Maria. The Zubers drove them to Lausanne to the train, and Beata couldn't stop crying as she hugged them both. It reminded her of the day nearly three years before when she had left her parents. They arrived in Cologne on Amadea's second birthday. And when they arrived at the Schloss, although Antoine was pleased to see his old friend, he had to confess to Beata that night that he found the project daunting.

The Schloss itself was in terrible shape and had been allowed to go to rack and ruin. The noble family who had owned it for centuries had long since run out of money, and the place had been uninhabited and was crumbling and had been allowed to deteriorate to a shocking degree during the war, and even before that. And the stables were even worse. It was going to take months, or even years, to get the place clean, whole, and up and running. But Antoine had to admit after a month or two, he found what he was doing exciting. And he couldn't wait to start buying horses for them. Beata loved hearing his plans when they talked about it at night.

In the end, their progress went faster than expected. By Christmas, there was an army of carpenters, painters, architects, builders, stonemasons, gardeners, glaziers, and master craftsmen hard at work on the place. Véronique and Gérard Daubigny were relentless. According to Antoine, Véronique was building a palace. And much to his delight, they spared nothing on the stables. They were heated, immaculate, modern, beautifully built, and could house up to sixty horses. By the following spring, Antoine was buying horses at fabulous prices all over Europe for them. He made several trips to England, Scotland, and Ireland, and took Beata with him. She loved it. He also took several trips to France, and bought three beautiful hunters in Dordogne, within ten miles of the château where he had grown up, and where his family continued to refuse to see him. He was quiet as they drove past the house on the way to an auction in Périgord, and Beata could see how much it upset him. She saw him look at the gates in sorrow as they rode by. Their families were as good as dead to them.

She had had the same experience herself when they returned to Cologne. She couldn't resist taking a taxi past her old house one day, and cried as she stood on the street outside, knowing that all the people she had once loved were there, and they wouldn't see her. She had written to them all again, when they returned to Cologne, and once again her letters had come back to her unopened. Her father had not relented. It was something she and Antoine had learned to live with, but it was still painful, like a scar that throbbed at times, or a limb that was no longer there. She was grateful that she had Antoine and Amadea, and somewhat disappointed that there was no second baby. Amadea was three by then, and Beata still hadn't gotten pregnant, although they'd tried. Things were busier and more stressful than they had been in Switzerland. And sometimes she wondered if that was the problem. Whatever the reason, Beata had begun to believe that a second baby would never come. But she was happy with Antoine and Amadea, and their new home. Gérard was not only a reasonable employer for Antoine, but the Daubignys were great friends to both of them.

It took another year for Antoine to fill the stables. He had bought fifty-eight Thoroughbreds for the Daubignys, including several Arabians, and when Amadea was five, he bought her a pony. She was an excellent rider. And often he and Beata went on long rides in the countryside and took Amadea with them. Antoine wanted her to be an exceptional horsewoman. They lavished all their love and attention on her. And by then, she was as accomplished in the languages she spoke as Beata had hoped she would be. The child spoke fluent French, German, and English. And the following year she went to the local school with the Daubigny children. Véronique and Beata didn't spend a great deal of time together, as they were both busy, but they were always friendly to each other. Beata made evening gowns for her and several of her friends, at reasonable prices. She and Antoine hadn't amassed a fortune, but they were comfortable, and thanks to the house the Daubignys had given them, as part of Antoine's job, they lived extremely well, in a house that was handsome and impressive. It was a pleasant life in beautiful surroundings, and Antoine loved what he was doing, which was important to Beata. She was happy and at peace with her husband and daughter.

And only now and then were there reminders of her lost world, which inevitably distressed her. She saw her sister on the street in Cologne one day, and wondered if she was living there. She was with her husband and two small children, one of whom was the same age as, and looked almost exactly like, Amadea. Beata was alone, and she stopped dead in her tracks when she saw her. She had gone into town on the train to buy some fabric, and the moment she saw her sister, without thinking or hesitating, Beata called her name and approached her. Brigitte paused only for an instant, looked Beata in the eye, and then turned away, while saying something to her husband. She climbed hurriedly into a waiting limousine, while he lifted the children in beside her. And a moment later, they sped away, never having acknowledged Beata. It was a devastating feeling, she didn't even go to the fabric shop after that, and rode home on the train crying. She told Antoine about it that night, and he felt sorry for her. Neither of their families had relented in the seven years since they'd been married. They were heartless.

There had been another incident after that when she had seen her brothers leaving a restaurant with two women she assumed were their wives. Ulm had looked directly at her, and she could see that he had recognized her. His eyes met hers, and he looked right through her and walked past her with a pained expression. Horst had turned and walked away as he and his family got into a cab. She had cried that night, too, but this time she was angry. What right did they have to do that to her? How dare they? But more than anger, she felt sorrow, and the same loss she had felt the day she left her father's house to marry Antoine. It was a wound that she knew would never heal completely.

But the worst of all was the day she saw her mother, two years before she saw Brigitte. It was two years after they had returned to Cologne, and she had Amadea with her. She had taken her with her to do an errand in town, and unable to stop herself, she went to stand outside their old house for a moment, while Amadea asked her what they were doing.

“Nothing, darling. I just want to see something.”

“Do you know the people who live in that house?”

It was cold and Amadea was hungry, but Beata looked sadly at the windows where her room had been, and then at her mother's, and she saw her at the window. Without even thinking of what she was doing, she raised a hand and waved, and her mother stopped and saw her. Beata waved frantically then, as her daughter watched her. Beata's mother paused only for a moment, bowed her head as though in pain, and quietly pulled the curtains without responding. It was a sign to Beata that there was no hope for her. She knew she would never see her again. Even the sight of Amadea standing next to her had not been enough to soften her mother's heart, nor give her the courage to defy her husband. Beata was truly dead to them now. It was a lonely empty feeling, and her heart ached as she took Amadea to lunch, and home on the train, as the child questioned her about it.

“Who was the lady you waved to?” She had seen the ravaged look on her mother's face and didn't know what it meant, but she could see that she wasn't happy. Beata had looked deeply distressed.

Beata wanted to answer that it was her mother, but she didn't. “An old friend. I don't think she recognized me. I haven't seen her in a long time.”

“Maybe she didn't see you, Mama,” Amadea said kindly, as her mother nodded sadly. It took her a long time to tell Antoine about it. He had had no better luck with his parents and brother, although by law he would inherit his father's title and land one day, and the bulk of his fortune. But even knowing that did not induce his family to see him. In essence, their past was over. All they had now was their present and future with each other. Their history had vanished.

But other than the painful loss of their families, their life was pleasant. Antoine and Gérard got on well. And the stables prospered. Antoine bought new horses for him from time to time, organized a hunt for him, trained five of their best horses for the races, and bred their best stallions. Within a short time, Gérard Daubigny's stables were famous all over Europe, in great part thanks to Antoine, who knew far more about horses than Gérard did.

Things were going particularly well when Beata went to see Véronique one afternoon to fit an evening gown she was making for her, when for no reason Beata could think of, halfway through the fitting, as they were chatting amiably, Beata fainted. Véronique was instantly worried about her and made her lie down on a chaise longue in her dressing room, and walked her home afterward. Antoine happened to glance up and notice her as she walked past the stables. Beata was still extremely pale, and looked unsteady. He had been giving Amadea a riding lesson, and asked one of the grooms to watch her for a minute. And then he hurried out to see his wife, walking home with Véronique looking anxious beside her. Beata had sworn Véronique to secrecy. She didn't want to worry Antoine when he came to check on her. Beata said that she thought she was coming down with influenza, or perhaps a migraine, though she rarely had them.

“Are you all right?” Antoine asked, looking worried. “You don't look well.” He looked at Véronique with concern, and she said nothing, as Beata had begged her not to. But she was worried, too.

“I think I'm coming down with something.” She didn't tell him that she had just fainted in Véronique's boudoir during a fitting. She had even forgotten to bring the dress home with her. “How is Amadea doing with her lesson?” Beata said to distract him. “You should force her not to be so reckless.” She was seven, and absolutely fearless around horses. She particularly loved to jump over streams and hedges, much to her mother's horror.

“I'm not sure I can force her to do anything,” Antoine said with a rueful grin. “She seems to have her own ideas on a multitude of subjects.” She had her mother's sharp mind and interests on a myriad of topics, but she also had a daredevil quality to her that concerned them both. There appeared to be almost nothing she thought she couldn't do or was afraid of. It was a good thing in some ways, and terrifying in others. Beata was constantly afraid that something dreadful would happen to her. And as an only child, all her parents' love and attention was focused on her. Beata often thought too much so. But after seven years, it was obvious that Amadea was not going to have brothers or sisters, which was a circumstance both of her parents regretted. “Do you want me to walk you home?” Antoine asked, still looking concerned, and not successfully distracted from it. Beata was extremely fair-skinned normally, but when she wasn't feeling well, she developed an almost icelike pallor. And she appeared to be turning green as he spoke to her, and Véronique watched as well. Beata looked like she was going to faint again!

“I'm fine. I'm just going to lie down for a few minutes. Go back to our little monster.” They kissed briefly, and Beata walked the short distance to their home with Véronique, who helped her into bed a few minutes later, and left.

Antoine was relieved to see that she looked better when he got home that evening. And then worried again when she looked considerably worse the next morning. She was a pale shade of green as she got Amadea ready for school, and she had been almost unable to get out of bed before that, when he left for the stables. He came back at lunchtime to check on her.

“How do you feel?” he asked, frowning at her. He hated it when she was sick. His wife and daughter were all he had in the world, and all that really mattered to him. And there had been a lethal strain of influenza going around the previous winter.

“I feel better actually,” she said, trying to sound cheerful. She wasn't being entirely truthful with him, and he knew it. He knew her far better than that.

“I want you to see the doctor,” he said firmly.

“He's not going to do anything. I'll take a nap this afternoon before Amadea comes home from school.

I'll be fine by this evening.” She insisted on making lunch for him, and she set it down in front of him, and sat next to him to keep him company, but he noticed that she didn't eat anything. She couldn't wait to get back to bed the moment he left for the stables.

Antoine was still worried about her a week later. Although she insisted she was fine, he could see that she felt no better, and he was frankly panicked. “If you don't go, I will take you myself. Now for heaven's sake, Beata, will you call him? I don't know what you're afraid of.” What she was afraid of in fact was disappointment. She had begun to suspect what was wrong with her, and she wanted to wait just a bit longer until she was certain, and before she told Antoine. But finally, she relented and agreed to see the doctor. He confirmed her suspicions, and she was smiling that night when Antoine got back from the stables, although she still felt dreadful.

“What did the doctor say?” Antoine asked her anxiously after Amadea went upstairs to put on her nightgown.

“He said I'm healthy as a horse… and I love you…” She was so happy, she could hardly contain her excitement.

“He said you love me?” Antoine laughed at her answer. “Well, that's nice of him, but I already knew that much. What did he think was wrong that you've been feeling so poorly?” But she certainly seemed in better spirits, and very playful. She was almost giddy.

“Nothing a little time won't cure,” she said obliquely.

“Did he think it's a mild form of influenza? If so, my darling, you really have to be careful.” They both knew a number of people who had died of it the previous winter. It was lethal, and nothing to fool around with.

“No, not in the least,” she reassured him. “Actually, it's a very definite and quite pronounced case of pregnancy.” She beamed at him. “We're having a baby.” Finally. After all her prayers. When the baby came, there would be eight years between their two children.

“We are?” Like her, Antoine had long since given up hope of a second baby. After the first easy conception and pregnancy, it had simply never happened since then. “How wonderful, my darling! How very, very wonderful!” he said, looking as happy as she did.

“What's wonderful?” Amadea asked, as she reappeared in her nightgown. “What happened?” she inquired. She always liked to be part of the excitement. She was a strong-willed, but thoughtful, highly intelligent child, who adored her parents, which was entirely reciprocal. For a moment, Antoine was afraid she'd be jealous. He raised an eyebrow as he looked at Beata, and she nodded. She had just given him the green light to tell her.

“Your mother just gave me some very good news,” he said proudly. “You are going to have a brother or sister.” He was beaming.

“I am?” She stared at him blankly, and then looked at her mother, as they both suddenly feared that she would be jealous. She had had their full attention for so long, she might not be enchanted with the idea of a new addition, although she had frequently said that that was what she wanted. “When?”

“Two weeks after your birthday next year. You'll be eight then,” her mother answered.

“Why do we have to wait that long?” She looked disappointed. “Can't we get it sooner? Ask the doctor.”

“I'm afraid you can't rush up things like that.” Beata smiled at her. She obviously thought you ordered babies from the doctor. Beata didn't care how long it would take, she was just thrilled they were having a baby. She would be thirty herself when the baby came. And Antoine had turned forty-two that summer. But most importantly, Beata was relieved to see that Amadea looked as excited as they were.

“Did you ask for a boy or a girl?” Amadea asked intently.

“You can't order that either. We'll have to take whatever God sends. Although I do hope it's a boy for your papa,” Beata said warmly.

“Why does Papa need a boy? Girls are much better. I want a sister.”

“Well, we'll have to see what comes.” Antoine and Beata exchanged a warm look over her head and then smiled at their daughter. Antoine didn't care if it was a boy or girl, as long as it was healthy.

“It'll be a girl,” Amadea said definitely, “and she will be my baby. I'm going to do everything for her. May I?”

“It will be wonderful if you help your mama,” Antoine said gently.

“What shall we call her?” Amadea was being very practical about it.

“We'll all have to think about it,” Beata said, feeling tired but excited. She had dreamed of this for so long, and now it had finally happened when she had stopped even hoping for it. “We have to pick boy and girl names.”

“No. Just girl names. And I think it's really stupid that we have to wait so long.” Beata was nearly three months pregnant, and the baby was due in mid-April. It did seem a long time, particularly to a child of seven.

Beata's pregnancy was not quite as easy as the last one, but as the doctor pointed out, she was eight years older. She felt ill a lot of the time, and several times in the last two months, she felt as though she was going into early labor. The doctor told her to take it very easy. Antoine took wonderful care of her, predictably, and when he wasn't working, he spent as much time as possible with Amadea to relieve her mother. Beata spent most of her time knitting, and Amadea helped her. They knitted hats and booties and sweaters and blankets, and Beata made little dresses and nightgowns that could be worn by either sex, although Amadea continued to insist that she wanted a sister. She was fascinated to discover that the baby was growing in her mother's stomach, which was something she had never quite understood previously, since no one in her immediate circle had ever been pregnant. She had seen women like that before, but she just thought they were fat. Conversely, she thought that every fat woman she saw on the street now was having a baby, and Beata reminded her frequently not to ask them if that was the case.

Beata spent the last month of her pregnancy at home, and she wished that once again she had Maria with her. This time a doctor and a midwife were going to attend her. Antoine was relieved, but Beata admitted to him that she was disappointed. The doctor had already told her that Antoine could not be present. He felt it would be too distracting, and it was not how he did things. She much preferred having had Maria and Antoine with her in the simple farmhouse.

“Listen, my love, I'd much prefer knowing that you're in good hands. I don't want you going through the torture you did last time.” Beata had forgotten the worst of it, but Antoine hadn't. He still shuddered at the memory of her endless screaming. “Maybe he knows some tricks to make it happen a little faster.”

But as it turned out, Mother Nature did that for her. The doctor had warned her that it might be a long labor, almost like a first one. In eight years, her body had forgotten the previous birth. In his experience, he claimed, women who had many years between childbirths often experienced the same slow labors, or even longer ones, than they did the first time. Beata did not find that cheering. And when she met her, Beata wasn't crazy about his midwife. She wished that she and Antoine could just hop on a train and go back to Maria. They had stayed in touch over the years, and she had written to Beata to tell her how pleased she was to hear about the new baby, after Beata wrote to tell her. They had meant to go back and visit, but Antoine never seemed to be able to leave the stables. There was always too much going on.

Beata came home from a walk with Amadea late one afternoon. She was feeling better than she had in weeks and had more energy than she'd had in a long time. She and Amadea baked some cookies, and after that Beata made an elaborate dinner. She thought it would be a nice surprise for Antoine. She was just on her way up to change for dinner, when she felt a familiar pain in her lower abdomen. She had had pains like it for weeks, although not quite as strong, and decided to think nothing of it. She changed for dinner, combed her hair, put on lipstick, and went back downstairs to make sure nothing had burned in the kitchen. She had left a small turkey roasting in the oven. When Antoine came home, he found her in exceptionally good spirits, although she seemed restless at dinner. She had had the same small pains all evening, but they weren't severe enough to call the doctor, and she didn't want to worry Antoine. Amadea complained at dinner that the baby was taking forever, and her parents laughed at her and told her to be patient. It was only after Beata tucked her in cozily and went back downstairs to find Antoine that the pains got sharper.

“Are you all right?” he asked, looking at her. He was treating himself to a rare brandy, and thanked her for the excellent dinner. “You've barely sat down all evening.”

“All I do is sit around. I think I've been resting too much. I've had lots of energy since yesterday. I feel so much better.”

“Good. Then enjoy it. Don't wear yourself out. The baby will be here before you know it.”

“Poor Amadea is so tired of waiting.” Her mother sympathized with her, and suddenly felt a sharp pain, but she hated to tell Antoine. He was having such a nice time, relaxing with his brandy, and things had been exceptionally busy lately at the stables. They had just bought four new stallions.

Antoine sat admiring her then, enjoying his brandy. She looked beautiful to him, even though she was immensely pregnant. And as he finished the last of the brandy, much to his amazement, Beata doubled over. She couldn't even speak to him, the pain was so ferocious, and then as fast as it had hit her, it was over.

“My God, what happened? Are you all right? We'd better call the doctor.” But they both knew from the last time that even once they did, it would take forever. This was just the beginning. Beata remembered now that it had been that way for hours the first time. She had started labor in earnest at dawn, and Amadea had finally appeared fifteen hours later. And the doctor had warned her this time might be longer. She wanted to spend some quiet time with Antoine before the doctor and midwife arrived and took over. She preferred to spend her early labor with her husband, since they wouldn't let him stay with her once the midwife came. Beata wanted time with him now.

“I'll just lie down for a minute. Even if this is for real, the baby probably won't come until tomorrow.” It was ten o'clock in the evening, as she made her way slowly upstairs and Antoine followed. He offered to carry her, and she laughed at him. But she stopped laughing the moment she walked into their bedroom. The next pain hit her like a bomb, and she felt instant pressure on her back and lower belly. Antoine eased her gently onto their bed as she gasped in pain, wondering how she could have forgotten. It was all coming back to her now. It was only when she felt the first pains that she actually remembered what it had been like. Until then, the memory of the agony had faded. It was hard to believe now that she could have forgotten, but she had.

She lay down on their bed as Antoine watched her, and she insisted that he wait a while, or a few minutes at least, before he called the doctor. “They won't let you stay with me,” she said, sounding frightened.

“I won't be far away, just in the next room. I promise.”

Just as Maria had done eight years before, Beata had set aside a mountain of old sheets and towels, and she was worried about Amadea hearing frightening sounds from the next room during labor. With luck, she'd be at school when the baby came, and would miss the worst of it. Beata knew she was in for a long haul. She remembered it only too well now, from last time. She had two sharp pains again then, and a tremendous sense of pressure that seemed unfamiliar. She felt as though a truck were driving through her, and with the next pain, she suddenly looked frightened as she glanced wild-eyed at Antoine.

“Oh my God… the baby's coming…”

“I know it is,” he said calmly. The brandy was helping. He recognized all the signs that she was seriously in labor, but this time he knew what to expect and he wasn't worried. “I'll call the doctor. Where's the number?”

“No, you don't understand,” she said, gasping for air, and clutching at him. “I can't… don't… the baby's coming…” And with no warning, she let out a terrible groan, and her face turned first white, then purple. She was pushing. She couldn't stop herself. The pressure forcing her to was overwhelming.

“Stop pushing… you'll wear yourself out.” He remembered Maria warning her of that the first time. She had hours ahead of her, but he definitely wanted to call the doctor. She wouldn't let go of him though. She was clutching his hand, and he could see that the pains were ripping through her without stopping.

“Antoine… help me… take my clothes off…” She managed to somehow pull off most of her clothes, as he struggled to help her, and as she did, he realized what was happening. She wasn't just in labor, she was having the baby, literally, at that moment. This was not at all what he had expected. And he felt slightly drunk from the brandy as he looked between her legs and saw the baby crowning. From all he knew, she had been in labor for about five minutes. But in fact, she had been in labor since early that afternoon and refused to notice.

“Lie down,” he said firmly, with absolutely no idea of what to do. All he remembered, or knew, was what he had seen Maria do during the endless hours before Amadea. “… you can't do this to me… Beata…can't you wait till we call the doctor?” He didn't dare leave her to find the number, and there was no one to help them. He thought of calling Véronique, but he suspected that she knew even less than he did about delivering a baby. He made a move away from her to try and reach her address book, but she wouldn't let him.

“I need you… don't…oh my God…Antoine… please…oh no… someone help me…”

“It's all right, darling, it's all right… I'm here…I won't leave you… should you push now?” He had no idea what to do for her except be there, which was all she wanted.

“Get towels,” she cried. He ran to her bathroom, and brought back an armload and put them under and around her. He could see that she was wracked with pain and he held her shoulders as he had the first time. But this time, she didn't have to do the work, the baby did it for her. Beata gave one scream, and within seconds a small face emerged, open-mouthed and wailing. They both looked shocked as they heard it, and Antoine had never seen anything so amazing. He talked Beata through the next pains, as she delivered the rest of the baby's shoulders and then the body. The baby lay there perfect and crying loudly. It was another girl, and he picked her up and placed her gently in a towel, then handed her to her mother. He leaned down and kissed them both, as Beata laughed through her tears. The entire process had taken less than half an hour. Antoine was still in shock as he asked her for the number and called the doctor. He told him not to cut the cord, and he would be there in five minutes. He lived within minutes of the Schloss, and knew where their house was. Antoine went to sit next to her then, and gently kissed both mother and baby.

“I love you, Beata, but if you ever do that to me again, I'm going to kill you…I had no idea what to do to help you… why didn't you let me call the doctor?”

“I didn't think the baby would come for hours, and I wanted to be with you…I'm sorry…I didn't mean to scare you.” She had been afraid, too. It had all happened so quickly, she had never expected the baby to be born with so little warning. And with the exception of a few rough pains, it had been remarkably easy.

The doctor arrived moments later, cut the cord, checked mother and daughter, and declared them both in excellent condition.

“You didn't need me for this one, my dear. The next one is likely to come even faster.”

“I'm putting myself in a hospital for that one,” Antoine said, still looking shaken, as he thanked the doctor.

The doctor called and asked the midwife to come then, to clean up mother and baby and settle them in. And by midnight, mother and daughter were tucked into bed, looking immaculate and peaceful. This baby looked entirely different from Amadea. She was much smaller than Amadea had been, which was why the labor had been so much easier, and her arrival so speedy. She was tiny, and seemed to have the delicate frame of her mother. Amadea had continued to be tall and lanky, like her father. This baby had Beata's dark hair, and it was too soon to tell what color her eyes were. She seemed remarkably calm and relaxed as Beata held her.

In the morning when Amadea came in to them, she gave a shout of glee. She had heard nothing the night before, and Beata was grateful that she was a heavy sleeper.

“She's here! She's here!” Amadea said, dancing around the room, and then came to peer at her intently. “What shall we call her? Can I hold her?” Beata and Antoine had talked about names until they fell asleep, but they wanted to wait until they consulted Amadea.

“What about Daphne?” Beata suggested, and Amadea looked at the baby seriously, weighed the possibility for a long moment, and then nodded.

“I like it.” Beata looked relieved, Antoine did, too. They all did. “Daphne. It's perfect.” She climbed into bed beside her mother then, and Beata gently put the baby in her big sister's arms, and tears came to her eyes as she watched. She hadn't had the son she had hoped to give Antoine, but her heart filled with joy as she looked at her two daughters, the one beautiful and blond, and the other so small and dark. She was the image of her mother. And when she looked up, Beata saw Antoine smiling as he watched them from the doorway. They exchanged a long slow smile. It was the moment they had both waited eight years for.

“I love you,” she mouthed to Antoine, more in love with him than ever. He nodded, as tears filled his eyes. No matter what they had lost in the past, they both had all they had ever wanted now.