Free All God's Children by Anna Schmidt

nods and murmurs of agreement in response to her interpretation of the poet’s words.
    “Yet,” she continued, “there are entire groups of people that are being singled out for harassment and open persecution—not just here in Germany but around the world.”
    “Even in almighty America?” another member of the group challenged, glancing at Josef as if to make it clear that he did not agree with Beth.
    “Yes. Even there. My own family has written to me of the snubs of neighbors and the suspicions of local authorities simply because my mother is of German birth. And that bit of news was allowed to escape the black marking pen of the censor.”
    “Is that why you have not returned to America?” the young man asked.
    “Why would she?” The speaker was a woman who was looking not at the young man but directly at Josef. “Things are surely so much better here.”
    A few people laughed, while others looked away. Franz struggled to find words to defuse the potentially volatile thread of conversation. “My niece has a point. The role of government is to serve all its peoples equally. Especially in those nations founded on the Judeo-Christian principles—”
    “In any civilized society,” Josef interrupted as he crossed the room to stand next to the professor’s chair with the intention of showing his support for Beth and the professor. Beth had glanced up at him, and her smile was so tentative and uncertain that it had taken his breath away. The truth was that he was wracking his brain to come up with some way he might change the direction of the conversation. Regardless of the connections among those gathered, no one could be certain of another person’s loyalties. The challenging student might well be working for the government to ferret out those who would dare dispute the Reich’s absolute power.
    “I wonder if I might share a poem a friend of mine has written. It’s titled ‘On a River Bank’,” Josef continued. “Although my friend’s work has not been published, I believe that it has some similarities to the work read earlier.” To his relief, most of those in attendance nodded and sat back to listen to his recitation.
    It was later that same evening that Josef had come down from his room in the attic to retrieve a book he’d left behind. The others had all left, but Beth was curled into the depth of one chair while Franz sat slumped in the other, his legs outstretched toward the fire.
    “But child, you go too far,” the professor was saying. “How can you not appreciate that as someone with no proper identification papers— as an American…”
    “I know. I am so sorry, Uncle,” she said softly. “Sometimes I don’t know what gets into me. It’s as if—”
    She had looked up then and seen Josef standing in the doorway.
    “I left my book,” Josef had said, indicating a table just inside the room even as the incriminating phrase—
someone with no proper identification papers
—echoed in his brain. She had no papers? She was an American living in the midst of her country’s enemy. She was in grave danger for that reason alone, and without the proper documents…
    “Come in, Josef,” Franz said, his voice weary and defeated. “How much did you hear?”
    Josef pulled a third chair up to the fireplace. “Enough,” he admitted.
    “Can you help?” Franz asked.
    Josef looked at Beth. “I will try,” he promised her.
    “Danke,” Franz said as he turned his attention back to the fire.
    Beth stood then. “You must not involve yourself in trouble that I alone am responsible for creating.”
    He had shrugged. “People lose papers from time to time— sometimes they are stolen, and other times simply misplaced.”
    He saw her exchange a look with her uncle and understood that he had not yet heard the true story. Once Beth had said her goodnights and left the room, Josef had turned to Franz. “If I am to help her, I have to know the whole story.”
    Franz had indicated that Josef