without responding. It was a sign to Beata that there was no hope for her. She knew she would never see her again. Even the sight of Amadea standing next to her had not been enough to soften her mother's heart, nor give her the courage to defy her husband. Beata was truly dead to them now. It was a lonely empty feeling, and her heart ached as she took Amadea to lunch, and home on the train, as the child questioned her about it.
“Who was the lady you waved to?” She had seen the ravaged look on her mother's face and didn't know what it meant, but she could see that she wasn't happy. Beata had looked deeply distressed.
Beata wanted to answer that it was her mother, but she didn't. “An old friend. I don't think she recognized me. I haven't seen her in a long time.”
“Maybe she didn't see you, Mama,” Amadea said kindly, as her mother nodded sadly. It took her a long time to tell Antoine about it. He had had no better luck with his parents and brother, although by law he would inherit his father's title and land one day, and the bulk of his fortune. But even knowing that did not induce his family to see him. In essence, their past was over. All they had now was their present and future with each other. Their history had vanished.
But other than the painful loss of their families, their life was pleasant. Antoine and Gerard got on well. And the stables prospered. Antoine bought new horses for him from time to time, organized a hunt for him, trained five of their best horses for the races, and bred their best stallions. Within a short time, Gerard Daubigny's stables were famous all over Europe, in great part thanks to Antoine, who knew far more about horses than Gerard did.
Things were going particularly well when Beata went to see Veronique one afternoon to fit an evening gown she was making for her, when for no reason Beata could think of, halfway through the fitting, as they were chatting amiably, Beata fainted. Veronique was instantly worried about her and made her lie down on a chaise longue in her dressing room, and walked her home afterward. Antoine happened to glance up and notice her as she walked past the stables. Beata was still extremely pale, and looked unsteady. He had been giving Amadea a riding lesson, and asked one of the grooms to watch her for a minute. And then he hurried out to see his wife, walking home with Veronique looking anxious beside her. Beata had sworn Veronique to secrecy. She didn't want to worry Antoine when he came to check on her. Beata said that she thought she was coming down with influenza, or perhaps a migraine, though she rarely had them.
“Are you all right?” Antoine asked, looking worried. “You don't look well.” He looked at Veronique with concern, and she said nothing, as Beata had begged her not to. But she was worried, too.
“I think I'm coming down with something.” She didn't tell him that she had just fainted in Veronique's boudoir during a fitting. She had even forgotten to bring the dress home with her. “How is Amadea doing with her lesson?” Beata said to distract him. “You should force her not to be so reckless.” She was seven, and absolutely fearless around horses. She particularly loved to jump over streams and hedges, much to her mother's horror.
“I'm not sure I can force her to do anything,” Antoine said with a rueful grin. “She seems to have her own ideas on a multitude of subjects.” She had her mother's sharp mind and interests on a myriad of topics, but she also had a daredevil quality to her that concerned them both. There appeared to be almost nothing she thought she couldn't do or was afraid of. It was a good thing in some ways, and terrifying in others. Beata was constantly afraid that something dreadful would happen to her. And as an only child, all her parents' love and attention was focused on her. Beata often thought too much so. But after seven years, it was obvious that Amadea was not going to have brothers or sisters, which was a circumstance both of her parents regretted. “Do you want me to walk you home?” Antoine asked, still looking concerned, and not successfully distracted from it. Beata was extremely fair-skinned normally, but when she wasn't feeling well, she developed an almost icelike pallor. And she appeared to be turning green as he spoke to her, and Veronique watched as well. Beata looked like she was going to faint again!
“I'm fine. I'm just going to lie down for a few minutes. Go back to our little monster.” They kissed briefly, and Beata walked the short distance to their home with Veronique, who helped her into bed a few minutes later, and left.
Antoine was relieved to see that she looked better when he got home that evening. And then worried again when she looked considerably worse the next morning. She was a pale shade of green as she got Amadea ready for school, and she had been almost unable to get out of bed before that, when he left for the stables. He came back at lunchtime to check on her.
“How do you feel?” he asked, frowning at her. He hated it when she was sick. His wife and daughter were all he had in the world, and all that really mattered to him. And there had been a lethal strain of influenza going around the previous winter.
“I feel better actually,” she said, trying to sound cheerful. She wasn't being entirely truthful with him, and he knew it. He knew her far better than that.
“I want you to see the doctor,” he said firmly.
“He's not going to do anything. I'll take a nap this afternoon before Amadea comes home from school.
I'll be fine by this evening.” She insisted on making lunch for him, and she set it down in front of him, and sat next to him to keep him company, but he noticed that she didn't eat anything. She couldn't wait to get back to bed the moment he left for the stables.
Antoine was still worried about her a week later. Although she insisted she was fine, he could see that she felt no better, and he was frankly panicked. “If you don't go, I will take you myself. Now for heaven's sake, Beata, will you call him? I don't know what you're afraid of.” What she was afraid of in fact was disappointment. She had begun to suspect what was wrong with her, and she wanted to wait just a bit longer until she was certain, and before she told Antoine. But finally, she relented and agreed to see the doctor. He confirmed her suspicions, and she was smiling that night when Antoine got back from the stables, although she still felt dreadful.
“What did the doctor say?” Antoine asked her anxiously after Amadea went upstairs to put on her nightgown.
“He said I'm healthy as a horse… and I love you…” She was so happy, she could hardly contain her excitement.
“He said you love me?” Antoine laughed at her answer. “Well, that's nice of him, but I already knew that much. What did he think was wrong that you've been feeling so poorly?” But she certainly seemed in better spirits, and very playful. She was almost giddy.
“Nothing a little time won't cure,” she said obliquely.
“Did he think it's a mild form of influenza? If so, my darling, you really have to be careful.” They both knew a number of people who had died of it the previous winter. It was lethal, and nothing to fool around with.
“No, not in the least,” she reassured him. “Actually, it's a very definite and quite pronounced case of pregnancy.” She beamed at him. “We're having a baby.” Finally. After all her prayers. When the baby came, there would be eight years between their two children.
“We are?” Like her, Antoine had long since given up hope of a second baby. After the first easy conception and pregnancy, it had simply never happened since then. “How wonderful, my darling! How very, very wonderful!” he said, looking as happy as she did.
“What's wonderful?” Amadea asked, as she reappeared in her nightgown. “What happened?” she inquired. She always liked to be part of the excitement. She was a strong-willed, but thoughtful, highly intelligent child, who adored her parents, which was entirely reciprocal. For a moment, Antoine was afraid she'd be jealous. He raised an eyebrow as he looked at Beata, and she nodded. She had just given him the green light to tell her.
“Your mother just gave me some very good news,” he said proudly. “You are going to have a brother or sister.” He was beaming.
“I am?” She stared at him blankly, and then looked at her mother, as they both suddenly feared that she would be jealous. She had had their full attention for so long, she might not be enchanted with the idea of a new addition, although she had frequently said that that was what she wanted. “When?”
“Two weeks after your birthday next year. You'll be eight then,” her mother answered.
“Why do we have to wait that long?” She looked disappointed. “Can't we get it sooner? Ask the doctor.”
“I'm afraid you can't rush up things like that.” Beata smiled at her. She obviously thought you ordered babies from the doctor. Beata didn't care how long it would take, she was just thrilled they were having a baby. She would be thirty herself when the baby came. And Antoine had turned forty-two that summer. But most importantly, Beata was relieved to see that Amadea looked as excited as they were.
“Did you ask for a boy or a girl?” Amadea asked intently.
“You can't order that either. We'll have to take whatever God sends. Although I do hope it's a boy for your papa,” Beata said warmly.
