of Lake Mendota. As they conversed in a mix of English and German, Mildred discovered that Arvid had earned his doctorate of law degree in 1924 and was pursuing a second doctorate in economics. He had come to the United States to study the American labor movement, and like herself he was deeply concerned about the rights of workers, women, children, and the poor. They shared a passion for education and aspired to become university professors, although Mildred also yearned to write, not only academic essays and reviews, but also novels and poetry.
One date led to another, and soon Mildred realized she had fallen in love with him—inevitably, utterly. And in return, she found herself beloved, admired, and respected by the finest man she had ever known.
On Saturday, August 7, 1926, two days after Mildred passed her master’s degree exams, she and Arvid married in an outdoor ceremony on her brother Bob’s 180-acre farm about twenty miles south of the university. For two years the couple worked, studied, and enjoyed newlywed bliss in Madison, but when Arvid’s Rockefeller Fellowship ended in the spring of 1928, they realized that they could not afford for her to accompany him back to Germany.
“Let’s check the numbers again,” Mildred had said, studying the neat columns of notes and calculations written in Arvid’s precise hand on a yellow notepad, calculations of his income and estimates of their expenses, adjusted for Germany’s excessive inflation. When Arvid smiled wryly and handed her his pencil, she laughed and added, “Although I suppose a doctoral student in economics can work out a simple family budget.”
Arvid removed his glasses and rubbed his tired eyes. “The facts distress me too, Liebling, but they’re still facts. I can’t support you as a graduate student, and given the state of the German economy, we can’t assume you’ll be able to find work there.”
Mildred reached across the table and clasped his hand. “Then I’ll find a faculty position here in the States and we’ll pinch pennies until we can afford to be together.”
Until then, they would have to live apart.
When Arvid returned to Germany to continue his studies at the University of Jena, Mildred had moved to Baltimore to teach at Goucher College. The months had slowly passed in loneliness and longing, but in the spring Mildred won a fellowship for postgraduate study at a German university of her choice. With her stipend added to the money they had saved, they could finally afford for her to join Arvid in Jena.
Now, with her overseas journey behind her, they were reunited at last—and if it were up to her, they would never be parted again.
They gathered her luggage and boarded the port train to Bremen, where Arvid suggested a walking tour to stretch her legs. Mildred could hardly take her eyes from the dear face she had missed and dreamt of all those long months apart, yet the charming city stole her gaze away time and again. She admired the tall peaked, half-timbered buildings lining the cobblestone streets and the sun-splashed, manicured squares, the window boxes bursting with red alpine geraniums, white peonies, and green trailing ivy. Bicycles were everywhere, their handlebar bells chiming out a ceaseless melody, but the occasional motorcar also drove sedately past, and now and then a horse-drawn wagon.
“How picturesque it is,” Mildred exclaimed, briefly resting her head on Arvid’s shoulder as they strolled arm in arm. “And to think how Greta tried to lower my expectations.”
Arvid’s eyebrows rose. “Greta Lorke disparaged her own homeland?”
“Not exactly,” said Mildred, amused by his instinct to assume the worst of his former academic rival. Mildred was loyal to Arvid, of course, but she had become very fond of Greta after they met through the Friday Niters, Professor Collins’s renowned group of graduate students and faculty who studied social welfare, economic, and labor policies and helped the Wisconsin state legislators draft progressive laws. Where Mildred was tall, slender, and blond, Greta was petite, curvy, and dark-eyed, and she wore her dark brown hair cropped in a wavy bob. She had high cheekbones and a full mouth fashioned for warm, beckoning smiles, but a certain wariness in her manner suggested that she was not unaccustomed to strife.
“Greta once told me that she feared my understanding of Germany comes from your poetry, novels, and fairy tales,” Mildred explained. “She warned me that my perspective is romantic and idealized, and that I ought to read German newspapers to learn about the real Germany, for my own good.”