improved unemployment statistics Hitler boasted about were illusory. Women, who were not supposed to be working outside the home at all but attending to “Kinder, Kirche, Küche,” were no longer included in the official count of the unemployed. Although Jews had been driven from the workforce in vast numbers, they were not counted either because they were not considered citizens. The reinstatement of the draft had shifted many young men from the unemployment rolls to the military, and other men hired to work in the factories built to turn out equipment for the troops improved the statistics even more. Arvid, uniquely positioned to understand the real state of things, acknowledged that the economy had shown some genuine growth. “But to declare a swift and complete restoration, and to attribute it to Hitler’s financial genius?” He shook his head. “Propaganda, nothing more.”
Hitler lied with impunity, Mildred thought grimly one evening in early June as she walked to the Abendgymnasium. Why shouldn’t he, when he suffered no ill consequences, when his fanatical admirers disregarded all evidence that contradicted him? She wondered sometimes if the Führer believed his own lies, but she suspected the answer was much simpler, that he was ruthlessly calculating—
Her train of thought abruptly broke when, from a block away, she spotted two gleaming black cars parked in front of the Abendgymnasium, swastika banners on the front grilles and fenders. Two SS officers flanked the entrance to the building.
Ignoring the impulse to flee, she forced herself to approach with her usual smooth, brisk stride. Surprise inspections of schools had become commonplace. She had no reason to believe the Gestapo had come for her.
She greeted the officers with a demure nod as she passed between them. Inside, the halls buzzed with tension as students and faculty hurried between offices and classrooms, some pausing in alcoves to exchange furtive whispers, glancing nervously over their shoulders and swiftly dispersing. Mildred saw her own apprehension reflected in some faces, but others were lit up with the gleam of zealotry. Just ahead, a familiar burly figure emerged from the throng, an instructor from the History Department she knew to be no friend to the Nazis. “Einhard,” she said, catching hold of his arm, “what’s going on?”
“The SS received an anonymous report,” he said, looking warily past her to the students racing off to class as if he believed the accuser mingled among them—which, Mildred supposed, could very well be true. “An accusation of seditious teachings. We’re supposed to carry on as usual, but each member of the faculty will be pulled from class at some point and questioned. Those officers by the front door are there to remind us not to leave early.”
Mildred managed a smile. “How fortunate for me that I have a room on the ground floor, with accommodating windows.”
Einhard strangled out a laugh. “I might pay you a visit if this goes on too late.” He briefly rested a hand on her shoulder before hurrying off to the stairwell.
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 Nazi Frau you 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 several verboten authors 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,