Echoes Page 0,79

her to be afraid, but she was. Deeply afraid.

Amadea could see it the moment she walked in. Something was wrong. Her mother had come alone. Daphne was at school. Beata hated to waste a visit without her, and deprive her of the opportunity to see her sister, but she felt she had no choice. She knew she wasn't thinking clearly. They were all Germans after all. She was Catholic. No one knew who she was. No one was bothering her. But still, you could never be sure anymore. Her father must have thought he was safe too. She wasn't sure where to begin.

“Peace of Christ,” Amadea said softly, smiling at her mother. It had been a sad week for them. Sister Teresa Benedicta a Cruce, Edith Stein, had left them three days before, to join a convent in Holland. A friend had driven her over the border and her sister Rosa had gone with her, and was going to be staying at the convent too. She had been afraid to jeopardize the other nuns. Born Jewish, she had asked the Mother Superior to send her away to keep the others safe. And it broke everyone's heart to see her go. It was not what they wanted, but what they knew had to happen, for her well-being as well as theirs. They had all cried when she left, and prayed for her daily. The convent didn't seem the same without her smiling face. “Mama, are you all right? Where's Daphne?”

“In school. I wanted to see you alone.” She was speaking quickly, because she knew they didn't have much time, and she had a lot to say. “Amadea, my family's been deported.”

“What family?” Amadea looked confused as she stared at her mother, and they held each other's fingers through the grille. They were speaking in whispers. “You mean Oma's family?” Beata nodded.

“All of them. My father, my sister, my two brothers, their children, and my brothers' wives.” There were tears in her eyes as she said it, and she wiped them away as they spilled onto her cheeks.

“I'm so sorry,” Amadea said softly, confused. “Why?”

Beata took a breath and plunged in. “They're Jewish. Or they were.” By now they were probably dead. “I'm Jewish. I was born Jewish. I converted to marry your father.”

“I never knew,” Amadea said, looking at her with compassion. But she didn't seem frightened, nor did she seem to understand what it meant, or could mean to her, to all of them.

“I never told you. We didn't think it was important. And now it is. Very important. Maybe I was afraid … or ashamed. I don't know. No one has bothered us or said anything, and all my papers say I'm Catholic. I really don't have any papers, except the identity cards I've had since your father died. There's no evidence of it anywhere, and your birth certificate says that Papa and I were both Catholic when you were born, and we were. Our marriage certificate even says I'm Catholic. But it's there, somewhere. My father told everyone I had died. He wrote my name in the book of the dead. The person I was then no longer exists. I was reborn when I married your father, as a Christian, a Catholic. But the truth is, you're half Jewish, and so is Daphne. And I'm fully Jewish, as far as the Nazis are concerned. If they ever find out, you will be in danger. You have to know. I want you to be aware of it so you can protect yourself.” And the others, Amadea instantly thought to herself, remembering what Edith Stein had just done, to protect them all. But she was fully Jewish, and known to be. Amadea wasn't, and she was a nobody. Nobody knew or cared who she was. And her mother said there was no evidence of their heritage, or their Jewish relatives. Still, it was good to know.

“Thank you for telling me. I'm not worried,” she said quietly, looking at her mother, and kissing her fingers. And then she thought of what Edith Stein, Sister Teresa Benedicta a Cruce, had said before she left about the potential risk to others by association. “What about Daphne, Mama?”

“She's safe with me. She's just a child.” But so were the other children who were being deported and sent to camps. The difference was that they were fully Jewish. Daphne wasn't. But there was admittedly some small degree of risk. As long as no one bothered