Steeling herself, Mildred continued on to her classroom only to find Karl Behrens waiting for her outside the door. “Whatever they accuse you of, deny everything,” he said, his voice low and furious. “We’ll all vouch for what a perfect NaziFrauyou are.”
“Thank you, Karl,” she murmured, gesturing to the door. “Let’s not arouse suspicions by whispering in doorways.”
He nodded and preceded her into the room. Feigning serenity, she waited for a few stragglers to take their seats before beginning the evening’s lesson. Her heart thudded with such force she marveled that she could speak at all. One glance at her syllabus would reveal that she taught antifascist literature, and although she did not have her students read banned books—it had become impossible to acquire copies—she discussed severalverbotenauthors in her lectures. But if the informant had accused her in particular, why had the SS not confronted her directly? Why put the entire school through this frightening ordeal—unless it was to terrify them, to turn them against one another to save themselves?
Forty minutes later, a knock sounded on the door. Before Mildred could answer, Dr. Stecher peered in and asked her to accompany him to his office. “Certainly,” she said, smiling briefly as she turned back to her students. “Emil, would you please lead the class in a discussion of chapter seven?” Emil Kortmann nodded and approached the podium. He was one of her brightest pupils, a member of the school’s English Club as well as her private study group, eminently trustworthy, and less likely than Karl to lead the students in outright revolt.
On the short walk to Dr. Stecher’s office, the principal betrayed not a single flicker of emotion to indicate what might await her. When they reached his office, he opened the door and gestured for her to enter alone, and he closed it firmly behind her after she did.
A Gestapo officer sat behind the principal’s desk, his black uniform immaculate, his blue eyes appraising, his dark hair graying at the temples. “Frau Harnack,” he greeted her, glancing at a file lying open on the desktop—her employment records. “Please be seated.”
She obeyed, back straight, hands clasped in her lap, gaze calm and level.
“I deeply regret that an accusation of subversion and disloyalty to the Reich has been made against the Abendgymnasium.” His brow furrowed as he studied her. “Do you have anything you wish to disclose?”
“No, sir, I do not.”
“Are you certain? These are very serious charges.”
She feigned puzzlement. “I’m not sure how you think I can help you.”
She half expected him to pull her syllabus from the file, slam it onto the desk, and demand that she explain herself. Instead he regarded her with something resembling sympathy. “I know it isn’t easy to betray the confidences of a friend, but sometimes, for the greater good, it becomes necessary. Don’t you agree?”
“I suppose on certain occasions it could be.”
“We have arrived at one of those occasions.” He sat back in Dr. Stecher’s chair. “Frau Harnack, are you aware of any Jews on the faculty?”
“I—I’m quite sure there are none,” she said. “Several Jewish instructors were dismissed after Easter recess three years ago, and as far as I know, none remain.”
“You are not yourself Jewish?”
“No,” she replied, taken aback. “I’m American, as I’m sure you were informed, but my heritage is English.”
“Dr. Stecher assures me you are entirely Aryan, and I’m inclined to agree.” His eyes narrowed as his gaze took in her blue eyes and blond hair. “You look more Aryan than I do. But appearances can deceive. Can you prove that you are indeed fully Aryan?”
Mildred’s thoughts raced. “My mother has researched our family genealogy. We were accepted into the Daughters of the American Revolution based upon the records she found. I have copies—”
“Good. Bring them to Gestapo headquarters tomorrow so we may verify them ourselves.”
She agreed, and he dismissed her. Hiding her astonishment, she rose on trembling legs and hurried off before he decided to examine her file more carefully. When she returned to her classroom, the discussion immediately broke into a flurry of anxious questions. She tried to offer reassuring yet truthful answers, but she was not sure she succeeded.
The interrogations were still going on when her last class ended, but the students and all of the faculty who had already been questioned were permitted to leave. Mildred looked for Einhard in the halls but did not see him. It seemed unwise to linger, so she set out for home. Just around the corner out of sight of the Abendgymnasium, she found several colleagues who had ducked into an alley to compare notes. One, a professor of French, had been forced to justify his entire field of study—the inferior language and culture of an inferior people, the SS officer had disparaged it. Another, a history professor, had been sharply rebuked for using an older textbook, one that preceded the Reich and thus did not provide the new official version of German history. All had been ordered to prove that they were of pure Aryan descent.
“Was anyone arrested?” Mildred asked, glancing over her shoulder and drawing nearer to hear the answer. But they did not know. No one had heard any commotion in the halls redolent of a prisoner dragged off under duress, but that confirmed nothing.
The following morning, Mildred sorted her genealogy documents, hoping that copies would suffice since her mother had kept the originals. Arvid offered to escort her, but she declined, unwilling for him to miss work or to invite the scrutiny of the Gestapo or the SS. “One Harnack under suspicion is more than enough,” she said lightly, but Arvid’s frown of worry only deepened. In the end he agreed that she should go alone.
The Gestapo made their headquarters at Prinz-Albrecht-Strasse 8, a former art school adjacent to the SS headquarters in the Hotel Prinz Albrecht and a block away from the Prinz-Albrecht-Palais, which housed the SS intelligence service. An aspect of menace seemed to shroud the marble walls and pillared lobby, but she told herself it was only her imagination, not the ghosts of forgotten artists lamenting that their temple of creativity and artistic aspiration had become the lair of fascists. Mildred knew Heinrich Himmler kept an office on the top floor, and as she was directed from a main desk to a smaller office and to meet one particular clerk, curiosity compelled her to watch for him.
The clerk made her wait in an uncomfortable chair before beckoning her forward to query her about the purpose of her visit and to examine her documents. “Everything appears to be in order,” he finally said, stamping several pages with an official seal. “There’s no question that you’re pure Aryan, although surely you will soon give up teaching and take up the more noble career of motherhood?”
Pained, Mildred forced a demure smile. “One can only hope.”
He nodded, satisfied, and told her she was free to go. She waited a moment for him to return her documents, but when it became clear he had no intention of doing so, she inclined her head and departed, hardly daring to believe her ordeal was over, unable to breathe a sigh of relief until she stood outside on the pavement.
That evening, she arrived early for her first class, anxious to learn what had happened after she had left the Abendgymnasium the previous night. To her relief, she found Einhard in his classroom, still shaken from the interrogation and no wiser than she about what, if anything, the Gestapo had concluded. “If some of our colleagues don’t show up to teach today, I suppose that will tell us something,” he said gloomily, but as best as she could determine from hasty exchanges with other instructors during passing periods, everyone was accounted for.
After her last class, Mildred longed to hurry home to Arvid, but it was the night for the weekly meeting of the English Club, and they were well into rehearsals for their upcoming production ofRichard III. For a brief, blissful two hours, she lost herself in the beauty of Shakespeare’s language and the joy of helping talented, dedicated students bring his timeless drama to life. It was quite late by the time rehearsal ended, but when Mildred left the building with Emil, Karl, and a few other students who had lingered to discuss their characters, they stepped into a balmy twilight, strangely peaceful and reassuring after the pervasive dread of the past few days.
