Echoes Page 0,65
on her hats. Monika was as elegant as ever. Beata no longer cared, and Daphne hated the dreary dresses and constant black her mother wore. It looked so sad.
Amadea was about to turn eighteen, when her grandmother failed to come for her weekly visits for two weeks in a row. She managed to call the first time, and told Beata she wasn't well. The next time, she simply failed to show up. Beata was worried sick, and finally dared to call her. A female voice she didn't recognize answered the phone. It was one of the maids, who returned and said that Mrs. Wittgenstein was too ill to come to the phone. Beata spent the next week in an agony of concern over her, and was immensely relieved the following week when her mother showed up. But she looked extremely unwell. She was deathly pale, and her face had a grayish cast to it, she was having difficulty walking, and seemed frighteningly short of breath. Beata lent her a strong arm as she led her into the living room and helped her to sit down. For a moment, Monika could hardly breathe, and then seemed better after a cup of tea.
“Mama, what is it? What does the doctor say?” Beata asked, with a look of deep concern.
“It's nothing.” She smiled valiantly, but was unconvincing. “It happened a few years ago, and it went away after a while. It's something with my heart. Old age, I guess. The machinery is wearing out.” But sixty-five did not seem so old, and Beata thought she looked ghastly. If things had been different, she would have spoken to her father about it. Monika said he was concerned too. She was going back to the doctor the following day for more tests. But she said she wasn't worried. It was just annoying. But she looked a lot worse than annoyed. This time, when she left, Beata walked her all the way out to the street to make sure that she got there safely, and hailed a taxi for her. Her mother always came in a cab, so their driver could not tell Jacob where she'd been. She trusted no one with their secret, for fear that her husband would stop her if he found out. And he would have been livid with her. She had been forbidden to ever see Beata again, and he expected his wife and children to obey him.
“Mama, promise me you'll go back to the doctor tomorrow,” Beata said anxiously before her mother got into the cab. “Don't do something silly like cancel the appointment.” She knew her mother.
“Of course not.” Monika smiled at her, and Beata was relieved to see that she seemed to be breathing easier than she had when she'd arrived. Daphne had given her an enormous kiss when she left, and Amadea a distracted hug. Monika looked at her daughter for a long moment before she got into the waiting taxi. “I love you, Beata. Be careful and take care of yourself. I worry about you all the time.” There were tears in her eyes as she said it. She hated the fact that her daughter had been shunned for nineteen years, like a criminal to be punished for unpardonable crimes. In Monika's mind, between people who loved each other, there were none. And Beata always looked so sad. Once Antoine died, she had simply lost too much.
“Don't worry about us, Mama. We're fine.” She knew they were both overly concerned about her origins and the girls' papers. No one had ever questioned them about it. “Take care of yourself.” Beata hugged her again. “And remember how much I love you. Thank you for coming.” She was always grateful to her for visiting them, particularly now, when she didn't feel well.
“I love you,” Monika whispered again, and put something into Beata's hand. Beata didn't know what it was, as her mother slipped onto the seat of the taxi. Beata closed the door, and waved to her as they drove off. She stood watching the cab disappear into the traffic for a long time, and then looked into her hand, at what her mother had left there. It was a small diamond ring that she had worn all her life, and had been a gift from her own mother, who had received it from hers. It was traveling down the generations, and when she thought of her mother's hands, Beata always thought of that ring. It touched her