“Greta—”
“Think it over, Adam.” Quickly she rose and left the café before her resolve crumbled and she took back every word rather than risk losing him forever.
Two blocks from the café, she heard a man call her name, and at first she was torn between elation and dismay that Adam had not taken more time to consider her ultimatum. Then she turned and spotted a tall, slender man with blond hair and round wire-rimmed glasses raising a hand in greeting as he hurried to catch up with her.
“Arvid?” she gasped. “Arvid Harnack?”
“Greta Lorke. Itisyou.” Astonished, he seized her hand and shook it. “I hardly believe it. You haven’t changed a bit.”
She laughed a bit shakily. “Oh, but I have.”
“What have you been doing all these years? When did you leave Wisconsin?” He shook his head and smiled. “So many questions, but Mildred will want to hear the answers too. Come home with me and dine with us. It isn’t far.”
Mildred. At the sound of her old friend’s name, Greta felt a pang of fondness and yearning so acute that her breath caught in her throat. “I’d love to see Mildred,” she said. “Should we call ahead and let her know I’m coming?”
“No, no, let it be a surprise.” Smiling, he offered her his arm, and after the barest hesitation, she took it. “Where there’s enough for two, there’s enough for three.”
Considering the number of advanced degrees Arvid had accumulated and his family connections, Greta was astonished to learn that he and Mildred resided in Neukölln, the grim lower-class neighborhood Greta remembered well from her student work-study job at the orphanage. “Darling?” Arvid called out as he unlocked the door to the Harnacks’ flat on the fifth floor of 61 Hasenheide and motioned for Greta to proceed him inside. “Come see whom I found walking around Gendarmenmarkt.”
Smiling, Mildred entered from an adjacent room. She was even slimmer than Greta remembered, her clothes neat and flattering though a trifle faded and discreetly made over, but her golden blond hair, kind smile, and open, welcoming gaze were exactly as Greta remembered.
“Greta!” Mildred cried, hurrying to embrace her old friend, kissing her on both cheeks. “I can’t believe it. It’s been too long.”
“Much too long,” said Greta. “I’ve missed you terribly.”
Over a hearty cabbage, potato, and sausage soup, they shared stories of where life had taken them since they had parted company four years earlier. The frugal meal and the location of the flat had raised Greta’s suspicions that the couple was not particularly well off, and yet she was taken aback to learn that Arvid had been unable to get a university appointment.
“At least you completed your degree,” said Greta, chagrined to admit failure to her former rival. “Despite all my time and study, I still haven’t earned my doctorate.”
“Neither have I,” said Mildred ruefully. “I’m still toiling away on my dissertation.”
“My student days are over,” said Greta. “I hope to find work in theater or journalism instead.”
“Journalism is a dangerous profession these days,” said Arvid, “unless you’re willing to hold your nose and write for the Nazi press.”
“Never,” Greta retorted.
“In the meantime, you should join our literary salon,” said Mildred. “We’ve put together a lively crowd of writers, editors, publishers, journalists, and intellectuals for discussing literature and publishing. It’s an artistic group, not political. You could join our progressive study group for something closer to the Friday Niters.”
“I do miss the Friday Niters.” Greta sighed, wistful. “And sodas at Rennebohm’s, and Bascom Hill, and walking the path along Lake Mendota in autumn.”
As twilight descended, they reminisced about their favorite places in Madison and mutual friends—John Commons, William Ellery Leonard, Clara Leiser, Rudolf and Franziska Heberle, and others. The time flew by until Greta realized with a start that it was quite late.
“Promise you’ll come to our next salon,” Mildred said as she and Arvid saw her to the door.
“I will.” Greta embraced her friend once more before hurrying away, grateful for their reunion, an interlude of joy in a bleak season.
It was after midnight when she finally reached Pichelswerder, but she felt perfectly safe. Her unexpected reunion with the Harnacks had diminished the pain of her bittersweet meeting with Adam. The streetlights illuminated the way ahead, and other couples and groups of friends were strolling the sidewalks, their quiet conversations and occasional bursts of laughter reminding her that there was much to cherish in life even in those uncertain times. Only when she reached the boathouse and saw a shadow shift near the front entrance did she halt, instantly wary, and wish that she were not alone.
Then the figure stepped into the light, and she recognized Adam, his hat pushed back, hands thrust into his pockets, mouth set determinedly. “You told me to come when I was certain,” he said, drawing closer. “I told Gertrud I want a divorce. She swore that she would never consent.”
Her hopes plummeted just as they had begun to rise. “I see.”
“I’ll keep trying. Maybe someday she’ll fall in love with someone and release me.” He took her hands. “You deserve better, but if you can accept this wretched situation, and accept me with all my imperfections, you’ll be the only woman I’ll ever love for the rest of my life. I promise.”
Tears sprang to her eyes. She wanted more, but in such ugly, uncertain times, she would be a fool to let any chance of happiness with the man she loved slip through her fingers.
“I believe you,” she said, and she kissed him.
