“Of course his behavior was strained. There’s a war on, and he was part of your highest ranks. He was working like a dog. He would leave before dawn and come home after midnight almost every day. I can’t imagine any sane man wouldn’t have been strained. We barely had time to speak, let alone for him to involve me in any plotting.”
“But you had a plane at the ready.”
It was the ace up his sleeve. I’d been caught ready to flee and looked as guilty as Harald himself. I could not afford the slightest slip in my answers.
“A standard test flight that had been in the books for two weeks.”
“And this plot was not concocted overnight. You were clearly prepared to run. Answer me truly, were you to be Harald’s escape pilot?”
I took a deep breath. The ice of his gaze chilled my marrow. I felt fear constrict around my voice box as Ansel’s searing eyes willed me to lie. He was aching for a reason to crush me.
“Harald did tell me I might need to be prepared to leave with a plane,” I admitted.
“And you didn’t think to alert me or someone else in the party?”
“Ansel, he’d been a dedicated member of the SS for months. For all I knew he was enacting a plot on behalf of our Führer, not against him.”
“All the same, you didn’t think it wise to question him about his motives?”
“No, Ansel. I can tell you that in all my years as a married woman, I never did my husband the dishonor of questioning his motives when he made a request of me. I can take that point of pride to my grave.”
Ansel cocked his head to the side, perhaps pondering how soon I might be on my way there.
“You swear you had no knowledge of your husband’s plans?” he pressed.
“No, brother. I did not. Furthermore, if I had, I would have advised him against it.”
“Is that so?” he said, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back.
“It is,” I said. “No matter what he believed, I would never have had him sacrifice himself for his cause. I married a man, not a martyr.”
“Now he is neither,” Ansel said, standing. “He is a mere traitor whose name will never be remembered. The Führer, however, will be remembered as the greatest leader in the past hundred years, if not in the history of mankind.”
“That the Führer will never be forgotten is something we can agree on,” I said.
He opened the door and motioned for the guards to collect me and return me to my holding cell without another word.
I could hear Harald’s voice in my head telling me to be strong. To face whatever future lay before me with the strength and dignity befitting the countess von Oberndorff. But I did not feel grace or strength in that moment. I curled up on the bunk and let the grief have me. I didn’t dare sob too loudly and annoy the guards, so I buried my sobs in the flat, filthy pillow that had surely seen plenty of tears prior to my own.
“Jojo.” I heard a loud whisper at the door of the cell. “Jojo!”
I lifted my head to see Metta standing on the opposite side of the bars. I didn’t dash over to her, but stood warily, as if my movement might betray that this vision was just a mirage.
“My God,” I said feebly as I walked over to her.
“Shhh, I haven’t much time, Johanna. If Ansel knew I was here, he would have my hide.”
“He hasn’t hurt you, has he?” I said, reaching through the bars to touch the side of her face. Indeed she looked well. Fashionable yet sturdy clothes. Well groomed and well fed. Whatever his faults, Ansel was still providing for her.
“Please worry about yourself for the moment,” she hissed. “It’s your life on the line here, not mine. You must get up and not act like a defeated widow. I can only imagine how much you’re hurting right now, but you need to hold yourself together. Show them how useful you are. Ask to work from your cell. If they see you like a wet dishrag of a woman, they may decide the most useful thing to do with you is to make an example of you to anyone else who wants to plot against the regime.”
“How do you know this?” I asked.
“I’ve watched these people work for years now, Johanna. If you’re useful to them, you might stand a chance of survival. You’re a woman and related by marriage to Ansel. These things will work in your favor . . . but you must show them how clever and necessary you are to the war effort. Do you understand me? You won’t do any service to Harald’s memory by dying at their hands. Honor your husband by escaping with your life.”
“Yes,” I said against the tears welling in my eyes.
“You won’t see me again here,” she said. “Ansel is furious with both you and Harald. And himself for recommending Harald to such a high post. But this is the advice he would give you himself if he wanted to save you from the gallows.”
“But he doesn’t, does he?”
“Thankfully for you, he doesn’t get to make those decisions unilaterally. Not yet anyway.”
She was right. I would have to work. But for that night, I could be alone with my tears for Harald, who was now lost to me forever.
The day after Metta’s visit, I was informed with my tray of breakfast that I was being taken to the prison in Charlottenburg. Ansel hadn’t found it within himself—or perhaps the scope of his authority—to release me, but neither was I being sent to the executioner. It wasn’t exactly a relief, but it was something of a reprieve. It gave me the gift of time.
I had stayed up the entire night thinking about Metta’s words. I couldn’t act like a despondent widow if I wanted to survive. I had to show these people I was of use to them. Too valuable to kill. Too penitent to make a martyr. I had to stay alive.
I was taken in cuffs to the prison just before midday. The redbrick buildings were old-fashioned and made in a time when architectural style still kept pace with function. I wasn’t given a uniform or made to change, and I wasn’t sure if that was a signal that I was being treated with privilege or if they didn’t plan to keep me alive long enough to make a uniform worth the effort.
“You will be staying here,” the warden said with a jab of his billy club toward a private cell. “You’re to be housed away from the others.”
I assumed that was standard practice for traitors and other high-level criminals. It looked more like a dreary servant’s bedroom than a prison cell, which was an improvement over the workings of my imagination. It even contained a small table that could serve as a desk.
“I don’t suppose you might ask if I could continue my work while I’m here?” I asked. “Of course, I don’t know the duration of my stay, but I’d prefer to be useful to the cause if I can be.”
He turned and looked as though I’d suggested that I go scrub the mortar between the exterior bricks with my own toothbrush.
“I’m not sure such a thing will be possible, you understand, Gräfin von Oberndorff,” he said, adding my title and a touch of deference to his tone.
“Naturally, I’ll abide by whatever you and your colleagues decide is appropriate, but I’d be happy to continue my design work if at all possible.”
“I’ll bring the request forward. Is there anything you might need to make you more comfortable?” he asked, looking as though he was startled at the question as it rolled off his lips. For a moment, he seemed more like a kindly innkeeper welcoming me to his establishment rather than a jailer.