in her seat to study the madness they were leaving behind. “It must have something to do with the opening of the Reichstag.”
The rioters were fascists. That much was evident from their shouts and salutes, even though they were not clad in Brownshirt attire.
The drive home took more than twice as long as it would have on an ordinary day. Sara and Amalie found the children safe indoors with their anxious, wide-eyed nanny, distracted by toys. As Amalie tearfully embraced her bemused daughters, Sara quietly told Frau Gruen what they had witnessed.
“Fascist beasts,” the nurse said flatly.
Sara nodded agreement. And where was Natan in all the madness? When her eyes met Amalie’s, she knew her sister wondered too.
Eventually Wilhelm rushed in, shaken and outraged, to embrace his wife and kiss his darling girls. “Why do they hate us so much?” lamented Amalie, clinging to her husband, her luminous eyes brimming with unshed tears. “Women and Jews—what threat do we pose to those men, that they call for our deaths?”
“Don’t let those cowards frighten you,” said Wilhelm. “I would never let anyone harm you or the girls. Never.”
Amalie nodded and rested her head on his chest, but when she closed her eyes, two tears slipped down her cheeks. Sara said nothing. Wilhelm meant well—Sara knew he did—but his wealth, rank, and even his Christianity could not have protected his family earlier that day if they had taken a wrong turn into the thick of the riot.
Wilhelm placed some calls, and when he was satisfied it was safe, he had his driver take Sara home to the gracious residence in the Grunewald where she had lived nearly all her life. Her parents met her at the door, her mother pale and trembling, her father grimly quiet. Behind them stood Natan, hands in his jacket pockets, frowning pensively.
“Where have you been?” Sara cried, breaking free of her mother’s embrace to fling her arms around her brother.
“Covering the opening of the Reichstag, of course,” he replied. “And then the riot. One led to another. Listen to this: When the new session opened, the National Socialists marched in wearing their brown uniforms, despite strict rules against party regalia in the Reichstagsgebäude. They snapped to attention, gave that Hitler salute, and—” Suddenly understanding dawned. “Oh, Sara. I’m sorry. Lunch.”
“Yes, lunch.” She thumped him lightly on the chest. “Amalie and I were worried sick. At least tell me you got a good story. In that case I’ll forgive you.”
“There is no good story to tell about what happened today,” their mother declared. “But at least we’re all safe. I don’t want to hear another word about this tonight or I’ll never be able to sleep.”
Her children exchanged a look behind her back, but when their father raised his eyebrows at them in warning, they obediently murmured consent.
As the days passed, Sara followed the story in the press, looking for Natan’s name in the byline and, despite the harrowing events, feeling a stir of pride at his new title. She was shocked to learn that none of the roughly three hundred protesters had been arrested, less surprised to read that most of the windows broken belonged to businesses owned by Jews.
And though there was not a word of truth to it, the National Socialist press spread the rumor that the Communists had started the riot. They proclaimed the lie so often and so emphatically that those who had not seen the riot for themselves could not distinguish truth from falsehood.
Chapter Four
October 1930–August 1931
Mildred
When Mildred transferred to the University of Berlin in the autumn of 1930, she went alone.
Earlier that summer, Arvid had received his PhD in economics, summa cum laude, and had applied to the University of Berlin to complete his Habilitationsarbeit, the postdoctorate research and publishing essential for acquiring a professorship. When he was assured that the position was all but certain, Mildred arranged to accompany him, but just as her transfer to the university was complete, Arvid’s application was declined due to budget cuts and faculty reductions. The only offer he received was from the University of Marburg, about five hundred kilometers southwest of Berlin.
“To think I’ve crossed an ocean to be with you, only to part from you again,” Mildred had lamented after her frantic last-minute attempts to find a position at Marburg failed.
“It will only be for a little while,” he had assured her, cupping her face in his hands and gently raising it to meet his kiss. “I’ll see you almost every weekend,