Echoes

Things were going particularly well when Beata went to see Véronique 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. Véronique 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 Véronique looking anxious beside her. Beata had sworn Véronique 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 Véronique 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 Véronique'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 Véronique 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 Véronique, 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.