Echoes Page 0,81

Domini at work at her desk. She looked up as Amadea hesitated. She had been writing a letter to the Mother Superior of the Convent in Holland where Sister Teresa Benedicta had gone, thanking her for responding to their need.

“Yes, sister. What is it?”

“Peace of Christ, Mother. May I speak to you?”

She signaled to her to come in and sit down. “Did you have a nice visit with your mother, Sister?” The wise old eyes were taking her in. She could see that the young nun was worried about something, and looked disturbed.

“Yes, thank you, Mother, I did.” Amadea had closed the door behind her when she entered the room. “I have something I have to tell you, which I didn't know when I came in.” The Mother Superior waited. She could see that it was something serious. The young nun looked upset. “I never knew that my mother wasn't born Catholic. She told me today that she converted to Catholicism before she married my father. She was born Jewish. Her family was deported the day after Kristallnacht. I never knew them because they disowned my mother when she married my father, and never saw her again. My grandmother finally met us two years before I came in. But my grandfather never allowed my mother to see the rest of them again. They wrote her down as dead.” She looked up at the Mother Superior, and took a breath. “She says that no one seems to have any record of her history. She never registered, she has no passport. My parents lived in Switzerland for three years before we moved back here. I was born there. She has her marriage certificate to my father, which says she's Catholic. My birth certificate says they both are. But I'm half Jewish, Mother. I never knew that before. And I'm afraid now that if I stay, I will put everyone at risk.” It was exactly why Sister Teresa Benedicta had just left.

“We are not at risk, my child, and neither are you. From what you're telling me, no one knows your mother's circumstances. Is she planning to register as a Jew with the police?”

Amadea shook her head. “No, she's not. She leads a quiet life, and there is no reason for anyone to find out.” It was not honest, admittedly, but it was practical, and there were lives at stake. Both Daphne's and hers, and Amadea's. Even those of the other nuns perhaps. The Mother Superior did not appear to disapprove. “Sister Teresa Benedicta's circumstances were entirely different from yours. She was born fully Jewish, and she was well known as a lecturer and an activist, before she came here. She's a convert. You're not. She brought a great deal of attention to herself before she became a nun. You are a young girl who grew up as a Catholic. And with any luck at all, no one will ever realize that your mother didn't grow up Catholic, too. If she stays quiet, hopefully no one will ever know. If something happens to change that, I'm sure she'll let us know. In that case, we can spirit you away somewhere. This is precisely what I didn't like about Sister Benedicta's circumstances—it panics everyone. There is no need for alarm in your case. You came here as an innocent young girl, not as a grown woman who was known, had converted, and drawn attention to herself. In her case, it was wisdom to leave. In yours, it is imperative to stay. That is, if you want to stay.” She looked at her questioningly, and Amadea looked relieved.

“Yes, I do. But I was afraid you would want me to go. I will, if that is ever what you wish.” If so, it would have been the ultimate sacrifice to Amadea, for the good of the others. And her “small way” of denying herself for them. Saint Teresa's “small way” was self-denial in God's name.

“It's not. And Sister,”—she looked at her sternly then, as a mother would to admonish a child—“it is very important that you not discuss this with anyone. No one. We will keep this information between us.” And then she looked up with concern. “Do you know what happened to your mother's family? Has she heard anything?”

“She believes they were sent to Dachau.” The Mother Superior said nothing and pursed her lips. She hated what was happening to the Jews, as they all did.

“Please tell her that I'm sorry when you write to