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