“Vom Rath is dead?” A chill swept over Marianne.

“Dead.” Albrecht nodded. “But that is only part of it.”

Marianne felt uncomfortably at the center of this small group now, all scrutinizing her reaction. This was not a position she was used to: the ignorant one.

“It seems Goebbels has given orders for the SA to incite rioting, destruction of Jewish property. They’re throwing stones through shop windows and looting, making a sport—”

“Not a sport—a battle! An organized attack!” the man interrupted.

“—of destroying people’s lives.”

“How terrible!” Marianne said. “Did Lutze condone this? What does it mean?” Lutze was the head of the police, the SA—an unpleasant man she had recently met and disliked.

“It seems so,” Albrecht answered.

There was a shifting of glances and bodies.

“It’s descent into madness—Hitler is exactly the maniac we’ve suspected!” Hans exclaimed, but no one paid attention. He was a sweet, foolish boy. There are thinkers and there are actors, Connie had once said. Hans is an actor. Albrecht had balked at this dichotomy, though—so black-and-white, so reductive and unforgiving. Action should follow thought and thought should include careful deliberation. But this was not Connie’s way. He was more of an actor himself, and his views, while informed and considered, were rarely mulled over and always absolute.

“It means shame for Germany in the eyes of the world,” Albrecht said.

There was a general swell of affirmation.

“And suffering,” Connie said. “It means suffering for many, many people . . .”

Silence fell across the group as sounds of laughter and strains of the accordion filtered through the leaded windows.

“And it means reasonable citizens must take action,” Connie continued. “We are not all thugs and villains. But we will become these, if we don’t try to make change.”

It was a bold statement, a challenge almost, and Marianne watched it register on the men’s faces with varying results. Hans nodded dramatically, captivated. Eberhard von Strallen, clearly disapproving of such rash talk, flicked at the lint on his lapel. Albrecht frowned thoughtfully.

“It is our duty,” Connie said. “If we don’t work actively to defeat Hitler, it will only get worse. This man—this zealot who calls himself our leader—will ruin everything we have achieved as a united nation.” He continued, “If we don’t begin to mobilize like-minded people against him, if we don’t begin to actively enlist our contacts abroad—the English, the Americans, the French—he will draw us into a war, and worse. If you listen to the things this man says—if you really listen, and read—it’s all there in that hideous book of his, Mein Kampf; his ‘struggle’ is to turn us all into animals! Read it, really read it, know thine enemies—his vision is medieval! Worse than medieval, anarchic! That life is nothing more than a fight for resources to be waged between the races—this ‘Master Race’ he likes to speak of and the racial profiles he has devised—these are the tools he will use to divide us and conquer.”