The principal ignored the rebuttal and extracted a sheet of paper from the folder. “So as not to delay my reason for calling you here this morning, it is my unpleasant duty to inform you that the board has decided not to renew your contract for next year. However—” he slid the sheet of paper toward Chris “—because you’ve proved to be an excellent teacher and coach, I have taken the liberty of researching openings for teaching positions that you might find more comfortable under the circumstances.” Chris gave the paper a quick glance. It was a list of public schools in various towns in the Texas hill country where Germans had settled, each community bringing its individual dialect, customs, and religious doctrines with them.

Mr. Knowle said, “Nearby Fredericksburg, Bergheim, Boerne, Brenham…they will all be happy to have you, Mr. Brandt, especially since many of their able-bodied male teachers have been called up. We will give you a sterling recommendation.”

Chris looked at the man with growing dislike, the implication of “able-bodied male teachers” not lost on him. “I won’t need it, Mr. Knowle. My record will speak for me.” He could hire a lawyer and fight for the right to stay, Chris thought, but he would win the battle and lose the war. He’d become a pariah here. This bitter man would see to that. He would turn staff and students and their parents against him, a maneuver already underway. His principal carried unseen but clearly visible scars from his prisoner of war experiences, but Chris would not take the blame for them. He desperately wanted to keep his job, but he would not be a scapegoat for this man’s bias. He rose, picking up the list of schools as he stood. “I could poll the board for each member’s vote in this matter, but I can see that I would have no better chance of standing against your prejudice than a Jew in Europe now has against the Third Reich.”

His remark hit its intended target, and Chris had the pleasure of seeing Avery Knowle’s smug face jarred as he wadded up the list of schools and dropped it in the wastebasket by his desk. Back in his apartment, sick at heart, he found among his day-old mail a letter from Washington, D.C. He read it, astounded at the writer’s knowledge of the Brandt family and his academic background, college track-and-field records, and his exemption from military duty on grounds of his missing thumb. It also expressed his organization’s awareness of Chris’s keen desire to serve his country. The Office of Strategic Services could offer him that opportunity. If he wished to learn more, he was to telephone the number listed at any time day or night, any day of the week. Without another moment’s delay, Chris picked up the telephone receiver and made the call.

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER NINE

Brad / Limpet

Meeker, Colorado