“Eventually, perhaps,” said Josef, “but not for years.”
“Then happy days aren’t here quite yet,” Greta conceded, “but perhaps they’re coming.”
Her hopes seemed prescient a few days later when the National Socialists were dealt an unexpected blow at the German polls—the loss of two million votes and thirty-four seats in the Reichstag. The Social Democrats fared better, losing only twelve seats, but that still put them in second place behind the Nazis. The Communists finished third, but they boasted a gain of eleven seats in the Reichstag, while all the other parties shifted negligibly for better or worse.
It was about as good an outcome as Greta could have hoped for, and she smiled as she went about her work that day, more lighthearted and hopeful than she had been since those sunny, peaceful days in Zurich. Even Professor Mannheim noticed. “You’re fairly dancing as you shelve those books,” he remarked, looking up from his paper-strewn desk to study her over the rims of his glasses. “To what do we owe your good spirits?”
“The election, of course,” said Greta, resting a stack of books on her hip. “Aren’t you pleased?”
He shrugged. “It could have been much worse.”
“Yes, and how very happy I am that it wasn’t! Until now, the Nazis have gained seats with every election. Finally their streak is broken. Germany has rejected fascism at last.”
“Let’s not open the champagne just yet,” Professor Mannheim cautioned. “The National Socialists may have lost seats, but they still carried a third of the electorate. More than eleven million seven hundred thousand Germans believe that Adolf Hitler is fit to govern.”
“But perhaps this marks a turning point. As more people finally understand what the Nazis represent, more people will reject them.”
“I fear that people do indeed know what Hitler wants, and what he intends, and that is precisely why they vote for him. Not because they misunderstand him, but because they understand him very well, and approve.”
“I hope you’re wrong, Professor.”
“I hope so too,” he replied. “But you’re right that we must celebrate victories, however small. The Nazis may hold the most seats in the Reichstag, but they don’t have a majority. Unless they form a coalition with another party, they will not be able to govern unimpeded. It’s likely that President Hindenburg and Chancellor von Papen will continue to rule by decree.”
Greta shrugged, unwilling to relinquish hope on such a day. “Better their decrees than Hitler’s.”
Professor Mannheim nodded grimly. “On that point, Miss Lorke, I wholeheartedly agree.”
Chapter Nine
December 1932–February 1933
Mildred
In August, Mildred received a job offer to teach night classes at the Berlin Abendgymnasium, a new school founded by the Social Democrats where working-class adults could complete their secondary education and qualify for university. Although the new position paid less and lacked the prestige of the University of Berlin, Mildred admired the school’s mission and was relieved to have beaten the odds by finding work at all.
Most of her students were around her age, experienced in office or factory work but unfamiliar with the classroom. Unemployed or barely hanging on to jobs they feared soon would disappear, they had enrolled in night school hoping that study would help them rise in society. Tuition was nominal, textbooks were provided free of charge, and needy students were offered subsidized meals at a nearby restaurant before classes. When Mildred observed her students from the front of the classroom, she saw determined, hopeful men and women, neatly attired in dark suits and dresses, shoes shined, hair carefully groomed, expressions revealing a sincere willingness to learn.
The only woman and the only American on the faculty, Mildred had also been appointed supervisor of the English Club, which sponsored lectures on academic and cultural topics and occasionally put on Shakespeare plays. Many of her own students had signed up, and as she got to know them better through club activities, she learned that several shared her antifascist beliefs as well. She invited a select few to join her weekly study group, and was pleased to discover how much their experiences and perspectives enriched the group’s discussions.
As the weeks passed, she became very fond of her students and worried about the grim economic reality that awaited them upon graduation. No matter how well she taught them, no matter how diligently they toiled or how thoroughly they prepared, the jobs they deserved might not exist when they graduated.
Arvid’s situation was proof enough that even the best and brightest could find their professional hopes thwarted, although in his case, politics as much as the poor economy had kept him from attaining a university professorship. Mildred’s heart overflowed with love and pride to see him undeterred, uncomplaining, working away at the law firm while continuing to pursue his dream. After organizing a research trip to the Soviet Union for ARPLAN, he had written a detailed report about the factories, farms, and public works they had visited, the officials they had met, and the lectures and cultural events they had attended. After distributing copies to the other members of the group, he had begun writing an economic and cultural guide to the Soviet Union, delineating its unique national character and the workings of its planned economy. “When I finish the manuscript, I’m going to find a publisher,” Arvid had told her, yawning through breakfast after another late night toiling over his papers and notes. “A well-received book could finally win me an appointment as a university professor.”
Arvid’s resolve, her students’ determination, and her faith in them all sustained Mildred through that contentious autumn. Then came the November election, and the Nazis’ setback helped make the Christmas season of 1932 the merriest she had known since the National Socialists had begun their cruel, clawing struggle for power.
More good news came early in the New Year when Arvid’s manuscript was accepted for publication by Rowohlt, one of the largest and most prestigious publishers in Germany. When Arvid insisted that she use half of his advance payment to buy herself a new warm winter coat, she agreed on the condition that he use the other half to replace his glasses, which had an outdated prescription and a broken earpiece held together with glue.
“There’s so much to work for in the world nowadays,” Mildred wrote to her mother in late January after sharing Arvid’s happy news. “Never have there been more glorious prospects. I’m thirty years old and I have the work I want, and there are no insurmountable obstacles to my advancement. Life is good.”
The following evening, bundled warmly in her new wool coat and a scarf Arvid’s mother had knitted for her, she walked to the Berlin Abendgymnasium only to find several of her students waiting for her outside the front entrance, their expressions grim.
“Have you heard?” asked Karl Behrens, a metalworker who aspired to be a mechanical engineer. “Hindenburg has appointed Hitler chancellor.”
Mildred’s heart plummeted. “Are you sure?”
“I know a clerk on the president’s staff,” said Paul Thomas. “Hindenburg’s people tried to form a coalition backed by the army, but when that failed, they began negotiations with the National Socialists. The Nazis convinced Hindenburg that their conservative members will be able to constrain Hitler’s more extreme impulses, and so—” He gestured angrily with his single arm. “The Old Gentleman went ahead and did it.”
“Chancellor Adolf Hitler,” said Mildred, testing the words. They rang alarmingly false. “This can’t be.”
