The White Rose Resists
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“The White Rose Resists is that rare and powerful story that rips your heart apart at the same time that it inspires you to live for something greater. With a lyrical and skillful voice, Amanda Barratt tells the amazing true story of the German students who dared to use their voices in a culture of oppression. This novel will have readers turning pages late into the night; it will have their blood surging and boiling with a need for justice. Most of all, it will remind them of what is truly important. A beautiful masterpiece of a novel!”
Heidi Chiavaroli, Carol Award–winning author of Freedom’s Ring and The Tea Chest
“Woven with bittersweet delicacy, Barratt’s intimate voice holds you so closely you are surprised at an outcome history already taught you. A monument to courage and conviction, The White Rose Resists blends Barratt’s hallmark of immersive research with poetic resonance. This staggering portrait of love, danger, treachery, and unfathomable bravery in a time of sheer evil leaves us, in Barratt’s intelligent care, with the most potent sense of shimmering hope. This book deserves to be on every shelf, at the center of every book club conversation, and on the tip of every reader’s tongue for years to come.”
Rachel McMillan, author of The London Restoration
“Young, daring, faith-filled, in love with life, yet committed without reservation—this is the White Rose, a close-knit group of university students determined to defy Hitler and rouse the German people from their egocentricity and complacency, no matter the cost. With meticulous research and beautiful, brilliant writing, Amanda Barratt weaves tension, suspense, love, and loss with a skillful hand. A stirring reminder that courage should never be relegated only to the pages of history, The White Rose Resists kept me turning pages as fast as my eyes could read.”
Cathy Gohlke, Christy Award–winning author of The Medallion
“In The White Rose Resists, Amanda Barratt cherishes the past and honors true lives while inspiring this present generation to courage. Her storytelling deftly moves between perspectives of characters both real and fictional, portraying radiant hope against a backdrop of darkness. Painstakingly researched and masterfully rendered, this account deserves space in every mind and heart.”
Amanda Dykes, author of Whose Waves These Are and Set the Stars Alight
“Amanda Barratt masterfully brings history to life, honoring the unforgettable stories of those who lived before us. In The White Rose Resists, Amanda draws the reader into the heart of World War II Germany and introduces us to brave men and women who put their lives on the line because they were compelled to do the right thing. Their story is challenging, beautifully told, and carefully researched. I was entrenched from beginning to end and won’t soon forget their sacrifice.”
Kelli Stuart, author of the award-winning Like a River from Its Course and A Silver Willow by the Shore
The White Rose Resists: A Novel of the German Students Who Defied Hitler © 2020 by Amanda Barratt
Published by Kregel Publications, a division of Kregel Inc., 2450 Oak Industrial Dr. NE, Grand Rapids, MI 49505.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without written permission of the publisher, except for brief quotations in reviews.
Distribution of digital editions of this book in any format via the internet or any other means without the publisher’s written permission or by license agreement is a violation of copyright law and is subject to substantial fines and penalties. Thank you for supporting the author’s rights by purchasing only authorized editions.
This is a work of fiction. Apart from the central characters in the book and certain historical facts and public figures, the persons and events portrayed in this work are the creations of the author, and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Scripture quotations are from the King James Version.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Barratt, Amanda, 1996- author.
Title: The white rose resists : a novel of the German students who defied Hitler / Amanda Barratt.
Description: Grand Rapids, MI : Kregel Publications, [2020]
Identifiers: LCCN 2020002152
Subjects: LCSH: Weisse Rose (Resistance group)—Fiction. | Scholl, Sophie, 1921–1943—Fiction. | World War, 1939–1945—Underground movements—Fiction. | Anti-Nazi movement—German—Fiction. | GSAFD: Historical fiction.
Classification: LCC PS3602.A777463 W48 2020 | DDC 813/.6—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020002152
ISBN 978-0-8254-4648-1, print
ISBN 978-0-8254-7661-7, epub
Printed in the United States of America
20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 / 5 4 3 2 1
Somebody, after all, had to make a start.
—Sophie Scholl
A man’s moral worth is established only at the point where he is ready to give up his life in defense of his convictions.
—Henning von Tresckow (1901–44)
To the White Rose—
brave men and women who raised their voices while their world fell silent.
We remember your sacrifice.
And to all whose hearts beat with a refrain for truth.
May we strive to be White Roses in our world.
Soli Deo Gloria.
CHARACTER LIST
The Scholl Family
Sophie Scholl—A twenty-one-year-old biology and philosophy student in her first semester at Ludwig Maximilian University.
Hans Scholl—Sophie’s twenty-three-year-old brother. A medical student at Ludwig Maximilian University.
Robert Scholl—Sophie’s father.
Magdalena Scholl—Sophie’s mother.
Inge Scholl—Sophie’s twenty-five-year-old sister.
Elisabeth “Lisl” Scholl—Sophie’s twenty-two-year-old sister.
Werner Scholl—Sophie’s twenty-year-old brother.
The Brandt Family
Annalise Brandt—A twenty-one-year-old art student in her first semester at Ludwig Maximilian University.
Standartenführer Horst Brandt—Annalise’s father.
Marta Brandt—Annalise’s mother.
Horst Brandt—Annalise’s twenty-year-old brother.
Heinz Brandt—Annalise’s fifteen-year-old brother.
Albert Brandt—Annalise’s thirteen-year-old brother.
The Hoffmann Family
Kirk Hoffmann—A twenty-three-year-old medical student at Ludwig Maximilian University.
Pastor Paul Hoffmann—Kirk’s father.
Emilie Hoffmann—Kirk’s mother.
The Student Resistance
Alexander “Alex” Schmorell—A twenty-four-year-old medical student at Ludwig Maximilian University. Alex is sometimes called by his Russian nickname “Shurik.”
Christoph “Christl” Probst—A twenty-two-year-old medical student at Ludwig Maximilian University. Husband of Herta Probst and father of Michael, Vincent, and, later, Katja.
Wilhelm “Willi” Graf—A twenty-four-year-old medical student at Ludwig Maximilian University.
Traute Lafrenz—Hans’s girlfriend and a student at Ludwig Maximilian University.
Other Characters
Leutnant Fritz Hartnagel—Sophie’s fiancé.
Professor Kurt Huber—Professor of philosophy at Ludwig Maximilian University.
Gisela Schertling—Acquaintance of Sophie.
Katharina Schüddekopf—Friend of the Scholls.
Manfred Eickemeyer—Architect friend of Hans Scholl.
Falk Harnack—Member of the Berlin resistance.
Else Gebel—I
nmate at the Wittelsbacher Palace.
Inspector Mohr—Gestapo interrogator.
Judge Roland Freisler—Infamous People’s Court judge.
Dr. Friedrich Voigt—Physician at Stadelheim Prison.
Katrin Voigt—Friedrich’s wife.
CHAPTER ONE
Sophie
May 1, 1942
Munich, Germany
MY FUTURE IS WAITING, a spark in the distance burning steadily brighter as the train approaches the city.
Scrunched into a window seat near the back, I fix my gaze on the smudged glass, my reflection an overlay. To some, the outskirts of Munich aren’t what could be called beautiful, but to me they are. Perhaps it’s simply because they’re new. New, after so many months of bleak sameness.
As we near the Hauptbahnhof, the sprawling patchwork of the city comes into view, the skyline dominated by ancient churches with spires seeming to pierce the skies, the twin cupolas of the Frauenkirche soaring high above them all.
But even now, as the train carries me toward my new life, longing twinges through me for Ulm, the city of my childhood.
On the rack above rests my suitcase and, beside that, a satchel packed by Mutter last evening. Her face flashes before me, graying hair piled into a wispy bun, apron wrapping her waist, and eyes intent on her task. I came into the tiny kitchen and found her adding a large kuchen to the bag on the counter.
“Where?” Since the outbreak of war, such confections are a rare treat.
She turned with a smile I could tell was bittersweet. “I’ve been saving rations for weeks. You only turn twenty-one once. And I want you to have the best of birthdays, my dear daughter.”
I hugged her. A goodbye embrace. Not only to her, but to the last vestiges of childhood. She smelled like fresh bread and soap. Frail though she is, she hugged me back with surprising fierceness. As if something innate tells her we will not see each other again for some time, and that when we do, much will have changed in me.
“Danke, Mutti,” I whispered against the soft cotton of her blouse.
The memory fades. Smoke belches from the train, the whistle blows. I scan the blur of forms and faces on the platform as the train pulls into the immense brick station. Hoping, knowing Hans will be waiting for me.
The train jolts to a stop. I stand on legs that shake from the motion of the train and, I admit, a touch of giddiness. I grasp my well-worn suitcase in one hand, satchel in the other, and join the queue of passengers waiting to disembark. The narrow corridor is rife with the scents of too many bodies packed together—sweat, stale cigarettes, and someone’s cheap perfume.
I descend the train steps, feet shod in sensible brown lace-up shoes, and draw in a breath of warm, slightly smoke-hazed air.
The station is flooded with light, echoing with conductors calling out departure times, the brisk footsteps of travelers. An officer in crisp Wehrmacht gray catches sight of a young woman expectantly scanning the crowd and hastens toward her. A cry of delight. A kiss. A trio of soldiers stride toward the exit, duffel bags slung over their shoulders.
I stand off to the side near a board listing train fares and schedules, everyone certain of their destination, it seems, but me. The daisy in my hair, fresh this morning, faded now, droops lower, petals tickling my ear. The weight of my suitcase sends an ache through my arm. I swallow, glance both ways.
He’ll come. Of course he’ll come.
Then it all fades. Hans strides jauntily through the crowd. No longer does the vast city seem to gulp me in and swallow me whole. Hans is here.
With him, Munich is, will be, home.
I drop my bags and throw my arms around him. My brother, so dashing, so tall, hugs me back, then puts me from him, his warm, strong hands still in mine.
“You’ve arrived at last.” He grins down at me, brown eyes twinkling. “It’s taken long enough.”
It isn’t the train he refers to. I’ve wanted to attend Ludwig Maximilian University with Hans since passing my Abitur. But first I had to do my duty for Führer and Fatherland and complete a term of labor service, which ended up turning into a two-year ordeal before I was pronounced able to start my studies. Hans has been privy to my frustrations from the beginning, and the twinkle in his gaze seems to say: It’s all behind us. The future is ours.
He grabs my suitcase and satchel. It’s then I notice Traute Lafrenz lingering in the background. My brother’s girlfriend watches us with a half smile. Everything, from her stylish gray suit to the jet-black curls brushing her shoulders, suggests a cosmopolitan elegance I could never hope to attain.
“Welcome to Munich, Sophie.” Traute smiles and embraces me warmly. “It’s good to see you again.” Her Hamburg-accented voice is rich and slightly husky, not in a seductive way, but like a girl who isn’t afraid to laugh often or cheer her lungs out at a sporting event.
“And you,” I reply. “You look well.”
Hans turns to us with a broad grin. Curling strands of dark hair fall over his forehead. “Ready, ladies?”
We nod and he falls into step between us, one arm looped through mine, the other through Traute’s, our threesome leaving the station behind, merging into the crowd. For a glorious instant, I’m here with my beloved brother on the cusp of the world, and I forget about the grueling years of labor service, about my anxiety for Fritz, even about the war. Warm air stirs my hair against my cheeks. Munich bustles with streetcars, pedestrians, buildings of stucco and stone rising high.
A flash of red catches my eye. Flags hang at intervals from buildings along the street. Reality floods back, smacking me like a storm-tossed wave. In Munich, I’ll never have the chance to forget.
The sea of black and scarlet will always be near to remind me.
Gruesome spiders drenched in blood.
Hans’s flat is, putting it kindly, what one would expect of a bachelor who doesn’t have his mutter around to pick up after him. Books and papers piled onto a round table probably meant to be used for dining. Unemptied ashtrays. A coat with worn-in elbows tossed over the back of the lumpy sofa. Even Hans’s prized modern artwork hangs crooked on the walls, prints by artists like Franz Marc, Emil Nolde, Wassily Kandinsky—bursts of color in the otherwise dingy student apartment.
The Nazis are firm in their insistence such artists are degenerate. Whatever doesn’t suit the Führer is always dubbed by that term. Degenerate art. Degenerate swing music, books, authors. Degenerate humans—Jews, Poles, the mentally handicapped. A familiar knot twists my stomach.
Settled on the sagging sofa, I cross my legs and watch Hans and Traute rummage through my satchel. We’ve spent the past hour chatting, sharing family news, and catching up. Hans and Traute kept their arms around each other the whole time. I’m happy for my brother. Traute is lively and intelligent, a medical student like Hans. Though with his record of past girlfriends, I can’t help but wonder how long this one will last.
Traute pulls out the bottle of wine, brandishing it aloft. “Tell me, Hans, do any of your other sisters want to celebrate a birthday in Munich?”
Hans laughs, holding up the kuchen and inhaling its rich, buttery scent.
Seeing them together makes me long for Fritz. Leutnant Fritz Hartnagel, my fiancé. We exchange letters, as do so many couples separated by war. But pen and paper aren’t the same as sitting in some sun-drenched spot in midsummer, his whisper in my ear, and my head against his shoulder. There’s no denying that.
“The rest of the party will be here soon.” Hans ambles over and sits on the edge of the armchair.
“Party?” I ask.
“Of course.” Hans grins. “I wouldn’t dream of marking this momentous occasion without a party for your birthday. I invited some friends, the ones I’ve told you about.”
I gasp. “You mean Alex and Christl and Kirk?”
Hans nods, looking pleased. “I can’t wait for you to meet them.”
“You won’t have to wait long,” Traute calls. “I hear them coming up the stairs.”
&n
bsp; Instinctively, I tuck my hair behind my ear (I’ve since plucked out the faded daisy) and smooth my navy dress. I’ve never put much stock in my appearance, save to bob my hair in a daringly boyish cut during my teens. But I might start if I spend much time around the pulled-together Traute. Like all proper German girls, her face is bare of cosmetics, but her fine cheekbones and dark eyes need no accentuation.
A knock sounds on the door, and Hans rises to open it. In an instant, the room is bursting with three young men, all exchanging hearty handshakes and greetings with Hans and Traute. I stay where I am, on the sofa, watching the scene. The three arrivals fill the room with their broad shoulders and deep voices, an unmistakably masculine presence. I’ve missed being around young men. Much of the past two years have been spent in the company of dimwitted girls my own age or kindergarten students and fellow female teachers.
“Come here, Sophie.” Hans motions me forward. Their gazes fix on me. So this is Hans’s little sister, they must be thinking.
I cross the room and stand next to Hans.
“Sophie, meet Alex Schmorell, Christl Probst, and Kirk Hoffmann. Everyone, my sister, Sophie, arrived in Munich at last.”
Lanky, blond-haired Christl is the first to step forward. His smile is gentle and warm, as is the handclasp he gives me.
“We’re so happy you’ve joined us, Fräulein Scholl.”
“Please, call me Sophie.” My smile is easy.
“Very glad to meet you. Hans says you’re enrolled at LMU for the summer semester.” Brown-haired and broad-shouldered, Kirk has the look of one who makes feminine pulses flutter while being oblivious to it. His welcoming grin and strong handshake endear him to me instantly.
“Ja, and I can’t wait to get started.”
“At long last we meet the famous Sophie.” Alex takes my hand, but he doesn’t shake it. Instead, he bows low, reddish-blond hair falling into his eyes, lips grazing my skin. When he looks up, there’s a twinkle in his blue-gray gaze.
“I feel as if we already know each other, Hans talks about you so often.”