Danielle Steel - Echoes

“It's not strange,” Beata said calmly in response to Maria, “it's just different. I'm not used to being so far from my family.” She missed her mother terribly. And all her life, she had been inseparable from her sister, but now with Brigitte married and living in Berlin, everything would have changed anyway. What pained her most were the agonizing circumstances in which she had left her family. To Beata, that still felt like an open wound, as Maria could easily imagine it would, probably for many years. She hoped that both Antoine's family and Beata's would come to their senses eventually and forgive them for the choices they had made. They were lovely young people, and Maria knew it would be hard for them if their families never accepted them, and their marriage, in future years. In the meantime, Maria and Walther were more than happy to act as surrogate parents to them. Having the young couple there was a blessing for the Zubers, too.

“Will you and Antoine be wanting children soon?” Maria asked with interest, as Beata blushed and wasn't sure what to say. She didn't know if one had much choice in the matter. She always thought that babies came if they were meant to. And if there was something one could do to prevent that happening, or alter the course of events, she had no idea what it was. And she didn't know Maria well enough to ask.

“I think so,” Beata answered quietly, looking embarrassed, as she put the last of the clean dishes back in the cupboard, “whatever is God's plan.” She wondered, as she said it, if Brigitte would be having babies soon, too. She somehow couldn't imagine Brigitte with children, she was still so much a child herself, even at eighteen. At twenty-one, Beata barely felt ready for the responsibilities of motherhood and marriage. Three years earlier she would never have been here. But in spite of their painful beginning, she felt equal to the task. It was an exciting time for them.

“It will be lovely to have a baby here,” Maria said happily as she poured them each a cup of tea.

She hardly ever saw her own grandchildren because they lived so far away, and it was almost impossible for her and Walther to leave the farm. It warmed her heart to think of Antoine and Beata, and perhaps one day a baby being near at hand, if they were still there when one came. Maria's eyes lit up at the idea. Beata couldn't even think about that as a reality, all she wanted now was to take her catechism classes at the little church nearby, and to marry Antoine in two weeks. Beyond that, she didn't know what to expect or think. All she knew for certain was how much she loved him. And she regretted nothing that she had done or given up for him. And Maria and Walther both respected her profoundly for her loyalty to him. She was an impressive and obviously very determined young woman. And so loving. Maria felt closer to her each day. They had always been fond of Antoine, although they had seen little of him in recent years, but it had been an easy decision for them when he had asked if they could come to stay. She was only sorry that because of their nationalities, they couldn't stay for good. Sooner or later, after the war was over, the Swiss government would expect them to leave. They could come to Switzerland for asylum, but when their own countries were open and at peace again, they would have to return to whence they came. But given what was happening in the world after two years of war, who knew when that would be. Tucked away in the mountains, they were safe and at peace in the meantime.

Beata found her classes with Father André absolutely fascinating. They reminded her somewhat of the Bible studies she had done on her own. What he taught her was more geared to Catholicism. He taught her about the stations of the cross, the various devotions, the Blessed Mother, the Holy Trinity, taught her prayers and how to say the rosary. He explained the sacraments to her, and the importance of communion. And through it all, Beata asked him questions that told him she had given it all a great deal of thought. She didn't seem to be uncomfortable or at odds with any of the Christian concepts and ideas. Often she explained to him where there were intriguing similarities in her own childhood religion. She was a young woman with a fine mind, a deep appreciation for religion and philosophy, and a kind and loving heart. And he grew immensely fond of her during the two weeks they spent together, covering a lot of ground in intense religious study. And each day she came, she brought him something from the farm, along with greetings from the Zubers. She even made him laugh when she told him what it had been like learning to milk a cow. She laughed even harder to herself each morning, as she thought of Brigitte trying to attempt a similar endeavor. She would have swooned. The only thing that still pained Beata deeply was whenever she thought of her mother. And in spite of his unyielding stance about her marriage to Antoine, she missed her father, too. She worried constantly about the safety of her brothers. Just because she was far from home now, and had left with her father's wrath upon her, did not mean that she no longer loved them. She wasn't even angry at them, she just missed them, and had spoken of it to Father André, who was impressed with her sense of compassion and forgiveness. She seemed not to hold against them the fact that they had in essence driven her away. The ultimate compliment from him, in fact, was that he told her one afternoon that if she had not been born into another faith and were preparing now for her marriage, she would have made a wonderful nun. Antoine was not nearly as touched as she was when Beata told him about it that night.

“Good lord, I hope he's not trying to recruit you!

I have other things in mind for you.” He suddenly looked fiercely possessive of her.

“So do I. But it was sweet of him to say.” She was flattered, it was high praise from the kindly old priest, as Maria agreed.

“Never mind how sweet it is,” Antoine said disapprovingly, still sounding nervous, “I don't want any nuns in my family. I've always thought that's a sad life. People are meant to be married and have children.”

“Not everyone perhaps. Not everyone is suited to marriage and having babies,” Beata said fairly.

“Well, I'm glad you are,” Antoine said, leaning over to kiss her at the dinner table, which made Maria smile. He had been working hard on the farm with Walther, and Beata noticed when she dressed his wound at night that his arm was better. The wound was healing, although the arm was still stiff and not as useful as he hoped it would be again in the future. But he was managing extremely well, even with only one good arm. And to Beata, he was as beautiful as ever. She smiled shyly at him when he kissed her. It embarrassed her a little when he talked about having babies, and reminded her of the new discoveries that were coming.

The morning of Beata's baptism, on the way to church, Maria, Antoine, and Beata stopped at the mairie . A somber-looking clerk performed the brief civil ceremony that was the legal prelude to their church wedding the following day. For Beata, it was an awesome feeling knowing, as they drove to church afterward, that in the eyes of the law she was already Antoine's wife, just as she would become in the eyes of God the following day. Maria and Antoine were at the church with Beata for her baptism. Walther was unable to come as he had too much work to do at the farm. The ceremony was brief and simple, as she professed her beliefs and loyalty to the Catholic Church. Antoine and Maria acted as her godparents, and promised to renounce the devil on her behalf, and help her to adhere to her faith, and live it in future. After her baptism, she received communion for the first time, and cried as Father André gave it to her. It all meant far more to her than she had expected, and anything that she had experienced in Judaism until then. She had always found the time they spent in synagogue intensely boring. They sat there for hours, and it had always annoyed her that the men were segregated from the women. It bothered her too that there were no female rabbis, which she thought extremely unfair. Her father had gotten angry at her whenever she said it, and said sternly that that was the way it was. She was disappointed to learn that there were no female priests either. But at least there were nuns.