It was a long evening strained by empty sentiment and forced bonhomie to keep at bay the fears that lurked in the outer, unlit environs of the room—fears that had materialized as a result of the country’s anti-German feeling, which had arisen last year when the U.S. government penalized the Third Reich for its militant and brutal expansion into most of Europe. In June 1941, President Roosevelt had ordered all German and Italian assets in the United States frozen. Two days later, the State Department had closed all German consulates and Nazi propaganda organizations in the country. What did these actions mean to the naturalized and native-born Germans of New Braunfels? How would they affect their lives, their livelihoods? Then came the surprise attack in December on Pearl Harbor and Germany’s declaration of war against the United States. Tonight Chris noticed that some at the table cast anxious looks toward the doors of the biergarten hall, half expecting the police, on the assumption that it was a Nazi gathering, to burst in to arrest them or deport them back to Germany.

At last the evening broke up, and Chris was pleased that it was early enough to return to Austin tonight in preparation for his appointment with his principal. When he told his mother of his plans, she scolded, “But, Christoph, we hardly ever see you anymore!”

“Weekend and after-school sports keep me busy, Mother. You know that.”

“I did not think teaching would keep you so occupied. The law, medicine, business, yes, but not teaching.”

She had her not-so-subtle ways of expressing her disappointment in his choice of profession, and Chris had come to recognize that, though he loved her still, he liked her less and less. It was another sorrowful situation that the war in Europe had brought about. Tomorrow morning, another would most likely be added to the list.

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER EIGHT

Chris recognized his principal’s black 1938 Chevrolet as he pulled into the parking lot of Stephen F. Austin High School. There were other cars as well, most belonging to the coaches and players of the baseball team who’d come to view the reels of Friday night’s playoff game. The Austin A’s had won the previous night in a nail-biter that Chris would have preferred to attend rather than Ernst Drechsler’s retirement party. His request to be excused from handing out programs at the stadium had incurred the sharp disapproval of Mr. Knowle, the school principal, in a repeat of the conversation they’d had last May in 1941. Bachelor teachers were expected to fill in at home sports events, and last May Mr. Knowle had demanded to know what was important enough to keep Chris from doing his school duty. Chris had told him the event was in farewell to the son of old family friends.

“Where’s he going?” the principal had asked.

Reluctant to lie, Chris had said, “To Germany.”