“You're going then?” he said sternly. He looked like an old man to Beata for the first time. Until then, she had always thought of him as young, but he no longer was. He was about to lose the child he had most favored, the one he had been most proud of, and the last child he had at home.
“Yes, I am,” Beata said in a small voice. “I love you, Papa,” she said, wanting to approach him, so she could hug him, but the look on his face told her not to try.
“Your mother and I will sit shiva for you tonight. God forgive you for what you're doing.” She wouldn't have dared, but she wanted to say the same thing to him.
She kissed her mother one last time, then picked up her bags, and walked slowly down the stairs as they both watched her. She could hear her mother's sobs all the way downstairs and as she opened the front door. There was no sound from her father.
“I love you!” she called upstairs to the hall where they were standing, and there was no answer. There was no sound except her mother's sobs, as she picked up her bags and closed the door behind her.
She walked until she saw a taxi, carrying the two heavy bags, and told the driver to take her to the railroad station. She just sat in the backseat and cried. The man said nothing to her as she paid him. Everyone had tragedies these days, and he didn't want to ask. Some griefs were not meant to be shared.
She waited three hours for the train to Lausanne. More than enough time to change her mind. But she knew she couldn't do that. She knew with her entire being that her future was with Antoine. He had given up just as much for her. There was no way to know what the future held for them, but she had known that he was her destiny since the day they met. She hadn't seen him since September, but he was part of her now. He was her life, just as her parents belonged to each other. Brigitte belonged to the man she had married. They all had their destinies to follow. And with luck, she would see them again one day. For now, this was her path. It was inconceivable to her that her father would stick to this unreasonable position forever. Sooner or later, he would have to give up.
Beata was quiet as she got on the train that afternoon. Tears rolled down her cheeks most of the way to Lausanne, until she finally slept, and the old woman in the compartment with her woke her up. She knew that Beata was getting off in Lausanne. Beata thanked her politely, got off the train, and looked around the station. She felt like an orphan. She had sent Antoine a telegram from the station in Cologne. And then in the distance, she saw him, hurrying across the platform toward her. His arm was in a bandage held by a sling, but as he reached her, he grabbed her with one arm and held her so powerfully she could hardly breathe.
“I didn't know if you would come. I was afraid you wouldn't… it's so much to ask of you…” There were tears rolling down their cheeks as he told her how much he loved her, and she looked up at him in awe. He was her family now, her husband, her present and her future, the father of the children they would have.
He was everything to her, as she was to him. She didn't care what hardships they would have to endure, as long as they were together. As painful as it had been leaving her family, she knew she had done the right thing.
They just stood there together for a long time on the platform, savoring the moment, clinging to each other. He picked up one of her bags in his good hand, and she picked up the other, and they went outside to where his cousin and his wife were waiting for them. Antoine was beaming when they emerged from the station, and Beata was smiling up at him. His cousin put her valises in the trunk of the car, and Antoine pulled her close to him. He hadn't dared to believe she would come. But she had. She had given up everything for him. They got into the backseat of the car, as he put his one good arm around her and kissed her again. There were no words to tell her what she meant to him. And as they drove slowly through Lausanne and into the countryside beyond, she sat quietly next to him. She couldn't allow herself to look back now, only forward. And as he had said he would, her father wrote her name in their family's book of the dead that morning. They had sat shiva for her the night before. She was dead to them.
4
THE FARM OWNED BY ANTOINE'S COUSINS WAS SMALL AND simple. The land was beautiful, the house was warm and without pretension. They had two small bedrooms side by side, one of which their three children had grown up in. They were long gone to cities. None had stayed to work the farm. There was a big comfortable kitchen, and a sitting room for Sundays, which no one ever used. It was a far cry from the house where Beata had lived in Cologne. They were related to Antoine on his mother's side, and somewhat distant cousins, he explained, but they were more than happy to help the young people out and grateful to have help on the farm. Two young boys lived in a tiny cottage to help with the plowing, the harvest, and the cows. And here, in the mountains above Lausanne, it was hard to imagine that there was trouble anywhere in the world. The farm was as far removed from the war as one could get.
Antoine's cousins, Maria and Walther Zuber, were warm, easygoing, pleasant people. They were well educated, had little money, and had chosen a life that suited them. The rest of their family lived in Geneva and Lausanne, although their children had emigrated to Italy and France. They were roughly the age of Beata's parents, although in talking to them she realized that they were older than that. Their rigorous, hardworking, healthy life had served them well. And the haven they had offered Antoine when he told them his plight was perfect for the young couple in their hour of need. Antoine was going to do what he could for them, in exchange for the lodging they provided, but with his injured arm, he was limited.
Beata was shocked to see how bad the damage was, when she helped him dress his wound and massaged the arm for him that afternoon. Shrapnel had all but destroyed both muscles and nerves of his left arm. And it still looked like a painful wound. They had told him he would be able to use it again eventually, but no one knew yet to what degree. And clearly, it would never be the same as it had once been. It changed none of Beata's feelings for him, and fortunately for him he was right-handed.
Antoine had offered to help Walther with the horses, as he was particularly skilled with them, and with only one good arm, he would do whatever else he could. Beata and the two young boys who worked there would do the rest.
As they ate lunch of soup and sausages in the cozy kitchen, Beata offered to do the cooking, and whatever else they felt she could do. Maria said she would teach her to milk the cows, as Beata looked at her with wide eyes. She had never been on a farm before, and knew she had much to learn. She had not only given up her family for Antoine, and the home where she'd been born, she had left the only city and life she had ever known and loved. She had given up everything for him, as he had for her. It was a fresh beginning for both of them, and without the Zubers they would have had nowhere to go, and no way to live. Beata thanked them profusely as they finished lunch, and afterward she helped Maria with the dishes. It was the first non-kosher meal she had ever eaten. And although it was unfamiliar to her, she knew she had no choice now on the farm. In the blink of an eye, her entire life had changed.
“When are you two getting married?” Maria asked, looking motherly and concerned. She had worried about Beata ever since Antoine had written to them and asked if the young couple could seek refuge with them. She and Walther had been hospitable and generous and quick to agree. Without their own children at hand, it was going to be helpful to them, too.
“I don't know,” Beata answered quietly. She and Antoine hadn't had time to speak of it. It was all so new. They had so much to think about. She was still in shock after the last traumatic days in Cologne.
She and Antoine spoke of their plans late that night. He had made up a bed for himself on the couch in the living room, and gave Beata the small bedroom, which Maria had approved. Antoine had assured his cousins that he and Beata would be getting married soon. Maria didn't want the young people living in sin under her roof, and Walther agreed. There was no question of that. Beata and Antoine wanted to be married, too. He had looked into it as soon as he arrived and had discovered that as foreign nationals, they needed permission to marry in Switzerland. And in order to get the documents they needed, he borrowed Walther's truck and drove Beata into the neighboring town the next day. They needed their passports, a document that would allow them to marry in the regis-trar's office, and two Swiss citizens to vouch for them and act as witnesses. The fact that his maternal grandfather had been Swiss was of no use to them. His mother's nationality had been French, through her mother, as was his. The official who took the information from them said that they would have the papers they needed within two weeks.
