Echoes Page 0,67

in a choked voice.

“I can and I will. The shock of seeing you would kill her.” She realized how pathetic she must look in her old dress and coat, and her hat slightly askew. All she had thought of was getting there quickly, not how she looked. She could see in the faces of her sister and brothers, and even the women with them, that they felt sorry for her. She looked like what she was and had become, a misfit and an outcast. Her father did not ask how she knew that her mother was in the hospital. He didn't want to know. All he knew was that the woman who had been his daughter was dead as far as he was concerned. The one standing before him was a stranger, and he did not want to know her.

“You can't do this, Papa. I have to see her.” Beata was crying, and his face was immovable, just as it had been when she left them. If anything, he looked harder.

“You should have thought of that nineteen years ago. If you do not leave, I will have you removed by the hospital.” She looked and felt like a madwoman as she stood there, and she could easily imagine her father having her thrown out. “We do not want you. Nor would your mother. You do not belong here.”

“She's my mother,” Beata said, convulsed with tears.

“She was your mother. You are nothing to her now.” At least Beata knew that was not true. The past two years of weekly visits had proved it, and she was so grateful they had had that, and that her mother had come to know and love her children, and they her.

“It is so wrong of you to do this, Papa. She would never forgive you for it. Nor will I.” This time she knew she wouldn't. What he was doing was too cruel.

“It was wrong of you to do what you did. I have never forgiven you,” he said without remorse.

“I love you,” Beata said softly, and then looked at the others. They had not moved or said a single word. She saw that Ulm had turned away, and Brigitte was crying softly, but held out no hand to her. And none of them tried to convince their father to let Beata see her mother. They were too afraid. “I love Mama. I have always loved you. All of you. I never stopped loving you. And Mama loves me, just as I love her,” Beata said fiercely.

“Leave now!” Her father spat the words at her, looking as though he hated her for tugging at his heart. It was impossible to fathom what he felt. “Go!” he shouted at her, pointing down the corridor from where she'd come. “You are dead to us, and always will be.” She stood looking at him for a long moment, shaking from head to foot, defying him as she had once before. She was the only one who would. She had done it the first time for Antoine, and now for her mother. But she knew there was no way he would allow her into her mother's room. She had no choice but to go, before they physically threw her out. She looked at him one last time, and then wheeled around and walked slowly down the hallway with her head down. She turned to look at them one last time before she strode around the corner, and when she did, they were all gone. They had gone into her mother's room, without her.

She was crying as she rode down in the elevator, and sobbed all the way back to her home. She called the hospital every hour through the afternoon to inquire about her mother's condition, and at four o'clock they told her. Her mother was dead. Beata sat staring into space as she set the phone down. It was over. Her last tie with her family had been severed and the mother she loved was gone. She could still hear the echo of her mother's voice the day before. “I love you, Beata.” And then she had hugged her tight. “I love you too, Mama,” Beata whispered. And she knew she always would.

10

BEATA ATTENDED HER MOTHER'S FUNERAL THE NEXT DAY, and observed it from a distance. She wore a fur coat, a good black dress, and a beautiful black hat Antoine had bought her before he died. She knew her mother would have been proud of the way