The Traitor

“Stop, please stop.” Shame flooded me because I had been unable to tell anyone my terrible secret. Lisa put a finger to my lips as I struggled to keep from collapsing, humiliation washing over me, my hands shaking from knowing that I now could take a stand as well—but only if I placed my life and my parents’ lives at risk in order to fight the evil that had overtaken our homeland. But what could I do?

Leaning forward, Lisa clasped my hands in hers. “They want you.” Her words sounded like a sacrament, a holy whisper. “Hans and Alex have been watching you since you traveled to the Front. They want you to join the group.”

“Me?”

“You’ll help me mail and deliver leaflets. We can write them ourselves with their approval. Alex and Hans wrote the first four and they’ll soon be working on a fifth. In the meantime, they want the movement to expand its targets. The Reich already believes the White Rose is a national organization. The Gestapo is running scared. We are making a difference.” She paused. “Our mailing locations will be Vienna and Nuremberg.”

I held my arms close to my body to quell the violent shivering that threatened to consume me. “Sophie talked to two women about Stuttgart and Hamburg. Was that about the leaflets?”

Lisa rose from the bed, retrieved my coat, and wrapped it around me. “Yes. I know this is a shock, but think about what I’ve said. We are the first, and, remember, something has to be done.”

I breathed deeply and leaned back in the chair. After a few minutes of reflection, I told Lisa what I had seen at the Front—revealing for the first time what I witnessed—stopping several times to wipe away tears, drained from the emotions coursing through me.

Lisa lay sprawled under her coat as I ended my story. We stared at each other for a long time, both of us knowing that what I had told her could get us killed.

“I have to get home or my parents will send for the police,” Lisa finally said. “We don’t want that.” She got off the bed, put on her coat, and walked behind my chair. She leaned over and embraced me in a powerful hug.

I was worried that she might be harassed by the authorities as she walked home. “It’s after eleven. Stay here—it’s late.” I extricated myself from her arms and got up from the chair.

“No, I’ll be fine. I know the less-traveled streets by heart. Class tomorrow.”

I hugged her once more as she headed toward the door.

“One last thing,” she said, clutching the knob. “Don’t say a word of this to anyone, most of all Garrick. He’s being watched as well, but so far he’s not won over the group. He says all the right things, but Hans wants to find out more about him.”

“Of course,” I replied, knowing that Lisa held no fondness for Garrick from the beginning.

Lisa opened the door and dissolved into the wreath of shadows hanging upon the street. Soon she had disappeared in the night.

Exhausted, I collapsed on my bed. I woke up at three in the morning, my lamp still aglow on my desk. I switched it off and crawled back under the blankets, hoping my dreams would be free of thoughts of imprisonment and execution, the horrors of war, or the budding admission in my mind that I was more than curious about Garrick Adler.

The following Saturday morning while washing up in my parents’ tiny bathroom, I heard my mother’s strangled scream. They had invited me over for breakfast, as they often did on weekends. As always, I was glad for a respite from my work at Frau Hofstetter’s and an invitation to enjoy my mother’s cooking.

My mother stood at the front window, her fingers clenched into fists at her side. I rushed to her, as did my father, and spotted a black sedan parked in front of their apartment. The car idled, white puffs of exhaust billowing from its pipes before evaporating into the December air.

My heart rocketed into my throat when three men, one an SS officer in his black leather trench coat, the other two in brown coats, alighted swiftly from the car and with an aura of Reich formality strode up the walk.

“Whatever happens, neither of you say a word,” my father cautioned, his face blanched with fear. “You know nothing.”

I looked at him in horror; something was dreadfully wrong. The downstairs door was often open and I listened, my heart thudding in my chest, for footsteps on the stairs.

All was silent before the muffled creak of their shoes sounded in the hall. Two violent knocks echoed in the apartment before my father, silencing us with a finger to his lips, answered.

The SS officer stood behind the two men in the brown coats. One of them cracked a thin smile and announced he was from the Gestapo. “Herr Petrovich?” he asked in a voice that hinted of disdain behind its pleasant veneer. My mother leaned against me and the tremble in her bones settled in mine. Still, she was remarkably composed, in control of her shaky emotions as we watched what was unfolding before our eyes; but we had to be, we had no choice.

My father nodded and asked what business they had.

“We would like you to come with us,” the man said and the other two slipped into the apartment, their eyes darting around the room as if my parents were suspected of the most terrible treason.

I started to speak, but my father’s intense glare warned me not to open my mouth. I complied, all the while struggling to silence my fear. My parents had never supported the Nazi Party, but had never disparaged it as far as I knew. I couldn’t imagine what the Gestapo was doing in their apartment—at first, I thought they might have come for me because of what I’d revealed to Lisa. I quickly dismissed that thought—Lisa would never have betrayed me.

The first man took my father by the arm and ushered him into the hall. The SS man and the other Gestapo agent headed for my father’s bookcase. With one swipe of his gloved hand, the black-clad thug overturned the case, sending the books crashing to the floor. Several volumes of my father’s illegal books tumbled from their hiding place along with the others.

The second Gestapo agent picked up two of the books, including the Aquinas my father was so fond of, and held them in his gloved hands. The brown leather surrounding his fingers glinted like polished amber in the bright morning light.

“Do you know anything about these books, Frau Petrovich?” the agent asked my mother. His thin mustache wriggled on his upper lip as he spoke.

My mother shook her head, but said nothing.

“I’d advise you to stay at home for the next several days,” the SS officer said. He turned on his heels along with the other agent. Clutching several books, they rushed away, leaving the door open as they hurried down the staircase.

My mother and I ran to the window. The agent who had grabbed my father shoved him into the backseat of the waiting sedan and climbed in beside him. The other agent and the SS officer tossed the books in the trunk and then took their seats as driver and lookout. The car’s motor revved and the vehicle accelerated down the street out of sight.

We were left staring out the window. Without a word, my mother went to the kitchen. She lifted the spatula to stir the eggs, but it dropped from her trembling fingers as she collapsed in front of the stove.

I held her in my arms and stroked her hair.

“Oh, my God, what will become of him,” she sobbed.

I tried to quiet her. As her weeping faded, the silence grew ominous—the street even devoid of traffic—as if the Gestapo and SS had chased all life away. My fear transformed into a white anger behind my eyes. I knew what I must do.

I vowed, as I cradled my mother, to resist Hitler, his Reich, and his henchmen.

I would join the White Rose.

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