The White Rose Resists
Page 37
“Annalise.” My voice is a serrated whisper.
She looks up. Our gazes lock. Her eyes widen, her face turns pale. The basket falls from her hand, contents spilling to the ground. She stands motionless, shaking her head back and forth.
I stride toward her until I’m a breath away. My rucksack falls at my feet. She hasn’t moved, standing in the path, coils of hair escaping a brown kerchief, her frame painfully thin, gaze pinned to me as she shakes her head over and over.
“Annalise,” I repeat. I ache to reach out and touch her, put my arms around her shoulders. But she looks at me as if I can’t possibly be there. Tears shimmer in her eyes. My own well up.
“I’m here,” I whisper, gently reaching out and running my thumb along her cheek, her tears embedding themselves into my skin. “I came back to you.”
Annalise
June 3, 1945
I don’t want to go crazy. I must not. The man in front of me is the product of my overwrought imagination. A mirage.
Kirk Hoffmann is dead. Not standing in front of me, whispering my name with a broken voice and tears in his eyes.
He touches my face, trailing a calloused thumb against my skin.
And says my name again.
My lungs squeeze as if they’re caving in on me. I can hardly breathe, my gaze melded to his face. A face that has haunted me in dreams wrested from the deepest parts of my soul.
My legs buckle. He catches me before I fall, gathering me against his chest. “I’m here, my love.” His arms are strong around me. “I’m here.”
“This isn’t true … this isn’t happening.” A cry falls from my lips, a tearless sob.
“Shh.” He breathes, rubbing my back. “It’s all right. I’m right here.”
“I thought you were dead.” I press the side of my face into his chest. “They said you were.”
“He didn’t send you word?”
“Who? Nein … We received nothing.”
“It doesn’t matter now,” he whispers.
I lift my face and look into his. I’m not dreaming. The warmth of his arms around me, the creases around his eyes as he smiles are too real to be a dream.
“I never stopped loving you.” I wrap my arms around his waist. “There wasn’t a day I didn’t dream, didn’t think—”
Our lips meet in a hungry kiss. His hands tunnel through my hair, my kerchief falling to the ground. It’s a kiss born of love that stays steadfast and of loss that shapes us. We’re no longer Kirk and Annalise, the boy and girl once so young and golden, but a man and a woman who know what it is to come to the end of oneself and still keep going.
We’ve lived through a war that extinguished millions, borne witness to a darkness that engulfed the lives of our closest friends, suffered mentally and physically in ways ten years ago we would have called impossible.
Somehow, we survived.
We break the kiss. Our gazes meet. Sunlight streams from behind the clouds.
“I’ll never stop living for them, Annalise.” His gaze is fierce. “With you and God as my witness, I’ll never stop.”
Footsteps sound behind us. We turn. The Hoffmanns come slowly down the steps. I see it in their eyes, the battle of emotions, the fear and grief and disbelief. Finally, the joy. Mutter Hoffmann breaks away from her husband, and mutter and son run toward each other. I watch as he engulfs her in his arms, as they laugh and cry and hold each other.
“Thank God.” Her voice rises onto the air. “Thank God.”
Heart swelling, I smile as Kirk embraces Vater Hoffmann, emotion overwhelming the two men.
In the homes of the Scholls and so many others, families grieve in silence and try to go on living in spite of the empty places at the table and the aching spaces in their souls.
Should we ask why? Ought we to rationalize the seeming unfairness in this world? The temptation is great, no matter which side of the coin one finds oneself on.
Vater Hoffmann’s choked voice, Mutter Hoffmann’s streaming eyes and beaming lips, Kirk’s bent shoulders as he tries to hold them both at once. They stand in a circle of three, arms entwined, while sunlight falls in soft shadows and rays.
I shake my head.
Some answers we will never receive this side of eternity. It is enough to know God is present in all of our moments. Our greatest triumphs and deepest tragedies. Our beginnings and our ends.
Kirk holds out his hand to me, smiling, and I join my family. They make room for me in the circle, and I slip my arm around Kirk, Mutter Hoffmann’s strong hand on my back.
The world around us may not showcase good. Evil may continue to flourish. Darkness may, in fact, choke us like never before.
A smile softens my lips, as I gaze at each beloved face and remember those faces lost to all but memory. Hans. Willi. Christl. Alex. Sophie.
Even the greatest darkness can be breached by the flame of a single candle.
My friends who once were. My family who are here now. My husband who has been restored to me.
Candles, all.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
SHARING THE STORY OF the White Rose was a labor of love in the truest sense of the word and one I could not have completed alone. I am profoundly grateful to those who came alongside me and devoted time and love to this project.
To Ann, thank you for translating Sophie’s correspondence with Fritz Hartnagel. Your willingness to give of your time to help this English-speaking author glean from materials only available in German is a gift that contributed much to the writing of this novel.
To Heinz, for sharing his memories of growing up in WWII Germany. The afternoon I spent with you and your wife is one I will never forget. Thank you for your vulnerability and generosity in sharing this part of your past. I am humbled and grateful.
To Schuyler McConkey, for coming to my rescue and helping me brainstorm a tricky scene in this novel. To say you are amazing is an understatement!
To the dear friends who lift up me and my stories in prayer. For each and every one of those prayers, thank you. They are gifts beyond compare.
To my wonderful agent, Rachel Kent, for your encouragement, support, and ceaseless championing of my stories.
To the folks at Kregel Publications, I’m still pinching myself that I’m privileged to partner with such a talented and gracious team. You all are outstanding!
To my brilliant editors, Janyre Tromp and Becky Durost Fish. Janyre, thank you for refining this story and giving so generously of your wisdom and encouragement. Working with you is a gift. Becky, your keen editorial eye made this story sparkle. Thank you!
To my dad, thank you for your love and support as I’ve pursued my dream of writing. I’m so thankful to be your daughter.
To my mom, thank you for walking with me as I brought this story to life. You encouraged and prayed for me on the hard days, sacrificed countless hours to offer feedback on this novel, and continue to support me unconditionally. It is because of your influence on my life that I am a writer today. I love you!
To Sara, cherished sister and best friend. Thank you for encouraging me to write this story, for reading it a billion times and helping me to make it stronger, for sharing my heart for the students of the White Rose, for classic movie nights and endless conversations. Thank you for loving your (sometimes crazy) writer sis. We will always and forever be the Inklings 2.0.
To my readers, thank you for opening your hearts to the stories that hold so much of mine. Your encouraging emails and messages never cease to bless me.
And above all to Jesus, for giving me the gift of story. For Your grace, strength, and unfailing love. May the life I live and the words I write bring glory to Your name.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
“KEEP A GOOD MEMORY of me,” Willi Graf wrote in his final letter to his family before his execution on October 12, 1943. I believe all who lost their lives at the hands of the Nazi regime would echo Willi’s request to be remembered. I pray my novel has, in some small way, honored the men and wome
n who never sought heroism but, through quietly following their convictions, earned the title nonetheless.
While Sophie and Hans Scholl, Willi Graf, Alexander Schmorell, Christoph Probst, Professor Kurt Huber, and their families are real individuals, Kirk Hoffmann and Annalise Brandt and their families are fictional characters. Annalise is, in part, inspired by an interview by Traudl Junge, Hitler’s secretary during the waning days of World War II. Following the war, Traudl was tempted to blame her involvement with Hitler on youth and naivety, until she passed a plaque commemorating the Scholls. She realized Sophie, though a year younger, had clearly seen the criminal regime around her, and Traudl knew she no longer had an excuse for her inaction. I pondered the idea of creating a young woman as entrenched in National Socialism as Traudl was but who, through her friendship with Sophie Scholl, would open her eyes and take action. Kirk Hoffmann is inspired by others who worked in various degrees with the White Rose, including Jürgen Wittenstein. But while Jürgen was on the fringes of the student resistance, I placed Kirk in the center of it. Due to the large cast of characters this story presented, I was unable to detail the participation of several who were on the outskirts of the White Rose, including students Hans Hirzel, Susanne Hirzel, and Franz Müller, who helped distribute leaflets in Stuttgart and Ulm.
Although this is a work of fiction, my desire was to stay as close to the historical time line as possible, thus many of the scenes depicted in this novel are based on actual events as portrayed by biographers and historians whose works on the White Rose and its members I studied extensively, as well as on transcripts from the White Rose interrogations and letters and diaries written by the students and their families. The quote from Sophie’s diary, as well as passages from the leaflets, are actual excerpts. I drew inspiration for thoughts and dialogue from studying the letters and diaries of the students, as well as from memoirs and recorded interviews by family and friends. In my portrayal, I’ve done my best to capture the essence of these extraordinary individuals and their beliefs.
To this day, many details regarding the White Rose remain unknown. There are conflicting accounts of when and how Sophie became an active participant in the leaflet operation. After the war, her fiancé, Fritz Hartnagel, said that in May 1942 Sophie asked him to get a requisition form for a duplicating machine officially stamped. This, supported by Elisabeth Scholl’s statement that Sophie was involved from beginning to end, leads many to believe she was part of the group early on. Other mysteries include how the name White Rose came about and why the decision was made to scatter leaflets in the university’s atrium.
For those interested in the fate of key players, I’ve included a brief summary below.
Hans and Sophie Scholl were executed on February 22, 1943, four hours after their trial ended. Seconds before the blade fell, Hans shouted a final cry of resistance, “Long live freedom!” He was twenty-four years old. Sophie was twenty-one. The Scholls and Christoph Probst are buried in the Perlacher Forest near Stadelheim Prison. To this day, visitors from all over the world come to honor them, many leaving white roses on their graves.
Christoph Probst was executed on the same day as the Scholls, leaving behind a young wife, two little boys, and a month-old daughter. He was twenty-three years old.
Alexander Schmorell attempted escape once he got word of the Scholls’ arrest. Despite being sought throughout Germany as a criminal, with a one-thousand-marks reward, he evaded capture until February 24, when he was arrested after a young woman in an air-raid shelter inadvertently gave him away. During his interrogation, with no knowledge of the fate of his friends, he courageously took full responsibility upon himself in the hope of saving the others. He and Professor Kurt Huber were executed on July 13, 1943. In his last letter to his parents, Alex reaffirmed that he was dying with the “knowledge that I have served my deepest conviction and the truth.” He was twenty-five years old.
In an attempt to extract information about the resistance, especially about trips to recruit new members, the Gestapo kept Willi Graf alive until October 12, 1943. Willi steadfastly refused to reveal the names of anyone involved and spent the last seven months of his imprisonment in solitary confinement. He died at the age of twenty-five.
Robert and Magdalena Scholl left Stadelheim Prison believing they had ninety-nine days to file clemency petitions and fight for an overthrow of the verdicts. They were crushed when they discovered their children had been executed an hour after they left the prison. The Scholl family was soon taken into custody under the Gestapo protocol of clan arrest. Robert Scholl was released after two years. Following the war, he became mayor of Ulm. Werner Scholl, the only member of the family not arrested, was reported missing in action in Russia, and his date of death remains unknown. Imprisonment and the loss of her children proved too much for Magdalena Scholl’s weak health. She died not long after the end of the war, a broken woman in many ways. Following the war, Inge Scholl worked to preserve the legacy of her siblings, publishing an account of their story, Die Weiße Rose (The White Rose: Munich, 1942–1943) in 1952.
Fritz Hartnagel survived the war. After Sophie’s death, he grew close to her older sister, Elisabeth Scholl. They married and had four children. Sophie’s influence had a defining impact on Fritz’s life, and he became a judge and an advisor to youthful conscientious objectors. Elisabeth passed away on February 28, 2020, one day after her one-hundredth birthday.
The Legacy of the White Rose
On June 27, 1943, the exiled German novelist Thomas Mann gave a speech over the BBC dedicated to the White Rose. “Good, splendid young people! You shall not have died in vain; you shall not be forgotten.” Mann’s words indeed came true, beginning days after the execution of Hans and Sophie Scholl and Christoph Probst when a young man named Hans Leipelt and his girlfriend Marie-Luise Jahn circulated a new version of the sixth leaflet with the heading “Despite everything, their spirit lives on!” Hans Leipelt and Marie-Luise Jahn were later arrested after attempting to take up a collection to support Professor Huber’s widow and children. Hans was executed on January 29, 1945, at Stadelheim Prison.
In the summer of 1943, a member of the German resistance, Helmuth James Graf von Moltke, smuggled a copy of the sixth leaflet out of Germany and into Great Britain. Millions of copies were reprinted and dropped over German cities by the RAF with the title Manifesto of the Munich Students. Word of the White Rose reached as far as concentration camps, including Dachau, Buchenwald, and Auschwitz. One inmate recalled, “When we heard what was happening in Munich, we embraced each other and applauded. There were, after all, still human beings in Germany!”
Today the story of the student resistance continues to impact young and old with its legacy of defending truth in the midst of overwhelming darkness. In 2000, four million readers of the German magazine Brigitte named Sophie Scholl as the most significant woman of the twentieth century. In 2003, the German TV channel ZDF polled viewers nationwide for a series called Greatest Germans. Hans and Sophie Scholl took fourth place, above Bach, Goethe, and Albert Einstein. There are hundreds of schools and streets in Germany named after the members of the White Rose, and Ludwig Maximilian University has both a Geschwister-Scholl-Platz (Scholl Siblings Plaza) and a Professor-Huber-Platz. There is also a museum dedicated to the White Rose inside the university. Miniature copies of the leaflets and photos of the group’s members (as seen on the cover of this book) are embedded on the cobblestones outside, a reminder to all who pass.
Yet there are still those who do not know their story.
When I first heard about the White Rose, I was profoundly moved by these young people’s legacy. Hans and Sophie Scholl, Alexander Schmorell, Christoph Probst, and Willi Graf did not think of themselves as extraordinary. They were ordinary young people who loved nature, reading, and music. They had families, friends, and complicated love lives. All of them possessed a deep faith in God but struggled at times to reckon His goodness with the evil around them. Their flaws and frailties do not dim
their sacrifice. They enhance it, because we realize they were not so very different from ourselves.
Writing this novel has been a rich and convicting experience, often opening my eyes to my own complacency, as I asked myself, “What would I have done?” In hindsight, it’s easy to say we would have stood against Nazism, but the true answer requires a depth of soul-searching that extends to our own day-to-day lives. All of us can point to darkness in our world. We each have a voice. A ripple can become a flood—a single flame, a fire.
To Sophie, Hans, Alex, Willi, Christl, Professor Huber, and the many others who refused to remain complicit and so, by their actions, sacrificed their lives … thank you.
For you and for generations to come, we will not be silent.
For further reading, I highly recommend the following:
At the Heart of the White Rose: Letters and Diaries of Hans and Sophie Scholl edited by Inge Jens
Sophie Scholl and the White Rose by Annette Dumbach and Jud Newborn
We Will Not Be Silent: The White Rose Student Resistance Movement That Defied Adolf Hitler by Russell Freedman
A Noble Treason: The Story of Sophie Scholl and the White Rose Revolt Against Hitler by Richard Hanser
Alexander Schmorell: Saint of the German Resistance by Elena Perekrestov
The Short Life of Sophie Scholl by Hermann Vinke and Hedwig Pachter
NOTES
p. 37, Nothing is more unworthy: All quotations from the White Rose’s leaflets were translated by Gerlinde Armstrong from Die Weiße Rose, Flugblatter der Weißen Rose (Public Domain, 2013), Kindle.
p. 41, If everyone waits: Flugblatter.
p. 42, But now my years: St. Augustine, Confessions (London: Penguin Classics, 1961), 278–79.
p. 80, Nothing is more unworthy: Flugblatter.
p. 81, Who among us can guess: Flugblatter.
p. 81, If everyone waits: Flugblatter.