“Perhaps it’s too early. Word might not have reached London yet.”
How disconcerting it was to know they were among a mere handful of Berliners aware that events of monumental importance were unfolding hundreds of miles to the east. Soon the news would crash upon the city like floodwaters after a dam burst, but until then, the serenity of that warm, sunny morning would feel glaring and false, an untenable lie.
“Keep close to home today,” Arvid urged after breakfast when they parted at the front door with a kiss.
“Greta is expecting me to meet her for a walk through the Tiergarten,” she said. “Don’t worry. If the Russian bombers come, we know where the public shelters are.”
Arvid looked dubious, but he nodded, kissed her again, and set off for the office. He knew better than to order her to stay home, because if the RAF air raids had taught them anything, it was that no place was safer than any other. Sometimes people who sought refuge in the familiar shelters of their own buildings perished while others away from home survived because they had stayed late at work or had missed their usual train.
Mildred had been waiting at the appointed spot for ten minutes when Greta suddenly arrived, breathless, her hat askew. “Sorry I’m late,” she apologized. “Adam and I overslept. How could we oversleep on such a day?”
“Never mind.” Mildred smiled and adjusted her friend’s hat. “This may be our last quiet morning for a while. Let’s enjoy it.”
They strolled along their favorite paths, savoring the sunshine, the fresh breezes, the fragrance of summer blossoms. Deliberately avoiding talk of war, they discussed Ule’s latest antics, various plays in development for the Berlin stage, and Mildred’s new job. The war had extinguished German publishers’ interest in translating English and American books, but Mildred had found work teaching English for the Foreign Studies Department at the University of Berlin. She never would have expected to rejoin the university faculty after they had dismissed her so abruptly back in May 1932, but suddenly English classes were in high demand, and she was both a native speaker and an experienced teacher with a doctorate.
The primary purpose of the Foreign Studies Department was to train Nazi officers for the foreign service, and many of Mildred’s students were women intending to become interpreters or translators. Apparently the dogma of Kinder, Kirche, Küche could be ignored if the menfolk were busy conquering Europe for the Führer. Although the department chair was a major in the SS, several other members of the faculty were with the resistance, including Harro Schulze-Boysen and Arvid’s longtime friend Egmont Zechlin. Nor were all of the students inveterate Nazis; Mildred had already recruited a few resolute antifascists for their group.
As Mildred and Greta approached the Rosengarten, they passed a dark-haired, stylishly dressed woman pushing a pram. When their eyes met and the woman smiled, Mildred gave a start of recognition. “Nadia, zdravstvuyte,” she exclaimed.
“Guten Tag, Mildred,” Nadia replied in richly accented German. “It’s been too long.”
“It certainly has.” Mildred peered into the pram at a dark-haired baby about four months old, sleeping peacefully with her fist in her mouth. She ached to cuddle her. “Who is this little darling?”
“Allow me to introduce my daughter, Anfisa Ivanovna,” Nadia said proudly.
“She’s adorable,” said Greta warmly, smiling.
With a laugh for her own bad manners, Mildred quickly introduced her two friends, but as they chatted, the baby began to stir and mewl. Nadia smiled apologetically and went on her way, lulling little Anfisa Ivanovna back to sleep before she woke up completely.
A faint worry stirred in the back of Mildred’s mind as she and Greta walked on together—not the usual, painful longing inspired by the sight of a more fortunate woman with a child, but something else, a sensation of dread that grew as she mulled it over. “Something’s wrong.”
As if by instinct, Greta’s gaze turned skyward. “What do you hear?”
“No, that’s not it.” Mildred halted in the middle of the path, thoughts racing. “Nadia seemed very calm and content, don’t you think?”
“Anfisa Ivanovna must be a much better sleeper than Ule ever was.”
“But how could Nadia be so at ease, on this day of all days?”
Greta’s eyes widened as understanding dawned. “She shouldn’t be strolling through the Tiergarten. She and her daughter shouldn’t even be in Germany. They should have been evacuated days ago.”
Mildred turned and headed briskly in the direction of the nearest subway station. “We met at an embassy