Marianne had heard Connie’s views before—how many times had they talked late into the night around the fire in Weisslau? Hitler was a madman and a thug, they were all in agreement. Ever since the Putsch this had been clear. Connie, as well as Albrecht, had spent a good portion of the last years assisting the victims of the National Socialists—Jews who wanted to emigrate, imprisoned Communists, artists whose works were banned. Without law, Albrecht always said, we are no better than the apes. His work was as much to uphold and strengthen the law through practice as it was to win each individual battle.

But Connie had given up on the law, increasingly castrated as it was under the Nazis. He was a born dissenter and a believer in direct action. It was one of the things Marianne loved most about him—Connie, her childhood playmate, dearest friend, and the man she most admired, other than Albrecht, of course. He had always been an agitator, a passionate champion of what he felt was right. As children, he and Marianne had spent summers with their families at the Ostsee, and Connie had always led them on quests against injustice, plotting to reveal the hotel concierge’s unkindness to dogs or some wrongheaded parental prejudice. And usually he prevailed, through sheer force of character or single-mindedness.

“. . . We must find ways to work against him,” Connie continued. “Not only to bring the attention of the world to his ugly aspirations, but to take action ourselves. If we sit by and judge from behind the safety of our desks, we will have only ourselves to blame. So I suggest we commit to active resistance from this day forward. To trying to steer our country from Hitler’s destructive path.”

Connie finished. Sweat had formed around his hairline and he was out of breath.

There were murmurs and nods among the men gathered.

“I agree with the principle.” Albrecht spoke slowly into the swell of support. “But active collusion against our government—this government—is a dangerous thing. And we have wives and families to consider. I am not suggesting we should not, only that we think carefully—”

“Your wives and families will support you,” Marianne interrupted, surprising herself and the rest of the room. It came out like a rebuke. Albrecht was always so measured, slow, and thoughtful. A plodding tortoise to Connie’s leaping stag.

“All of them?” von Strallen asked wryly.

“All of them,” Marianne repeated. Von Strallen was a chauvinist. He told his silly wife, Missy, nothing and took her nowhere. Poor Missy, treated like a dumb fattened cow.

“And bear the risk?” Albrecht asked gently.

“And bear the risk,” Marianne repeated.

“All right,” Connie said, turning his intense gaze upon her. “Then you will see to it that they are all right. You are appointed the commander of wives and children.”

Marianne met his gaze. The commander of wives and children. She knew he did not mean to belittle her, but it smarted like a slap.