Memories XIII - Conclusion

I was woken out of my story telling revere by the snores of tiny Bea, Oliver, and Jonah. I smiled fondly down at them. Better that they had not heard the end of my story. For them it was just that. A story. And they had stopped listening soon enough that they could invent the  ending in their heads, make it into a fairytale. But the story hadn’t ended with the deaths of all the key members of the White Rose Society. I had made sure they would be remembered, just as I had promised. Making a deal in the dead of the night with a British Pilot, I gave him copies of the sixth leaflet, with the instructions to make more copies and drop them over Germany. It had been done.  In mid-1943, they dropped millions of copies over Germany, retitled The Manifesto of the Students of Munich. I ran away to America then, not being able to stand the memories that were evoked by my surroundings. I fell in love again, and had one child, my daughter. Just then, the door creaked open and my daughter tiptoed in. Smiling at the petite forms curled on the rug, she padded quietly over to me and kissed me on the cheek.

“Thank you so much, mum. Work was grueling today, and they always have more fun when you’re watching them,” she whispered. I smiled back

“Anything for you, my lovely Sophie,” I said, looking down at the picture of her namesake, my dearest friend, and I could almost feel her smiling at me as she whispered

“The sun still shines, Bea, the sun still shines.”

Memories XII

The janitor dropped his broom and called out loudly as he saw the content of the leaflets drifting down on him. Before I could blink, he’d run out of the auditorium, waving his arms and shouting loudly for the Gestapo. My eyes swam with tears as I sank to the floor. I had failed them. The janitor had seen, and even now I could hear the thunderous pounding of boots as a crowd of angry Gestapo came running through the auditorium, the janitor in front, brandishing his broom. I closed my eyes in misery as they ran by. They didn’t even stop to look at me. I was safe. But I knew that Sophie and Hans were not. The janitor had seen them clearly. I rested my head on my knees, letting out a soft wail. The White Rose Society had come to an end.

The Scholl’s Trial: February 22, 1943

I was pacing up and down outside of the court room. The Scholl family was due any minute. They wouldn’t miss this for the world. Four grueling days had passed since Sophie and Hans had dropped their leaflets in the halls of Munich.  Since then all hell had broken loose. Hans and Sophie were dragged out of Munich, and the Gestapo soon found enough evidence to convict everyone in the society through the testimony of Gisela Schertling, Hans’ pro Nazi girlfriend. (Ruth Hanna Sachs) My mind returned to the day when they had taken Sophie and Hans away. The pain that had followed. Willi had been taken away the same day. Hans held incriminating evidence on his person that not only implicated Willi, but Christoph and Alex too. I had been with him when they came. We were in his small apartment sipping cups of warm tea, our eyes red and puffy, but dry. We were all cried out. Then there was the awful pounding at the door. It resonated through my body and seemed to say “We will take everyone you love, we will take everyone you love…” Neither of us had made a move to open the door, choosing instead to memorize each other’s face, and remember the sweet, happy days we’d shared. Not the bad, and certainly not what was about to come. Willi had known it would happen. Someone shouted ‘Open up – The Gestapo are here. We’ve got a warrant for Willi Graf’s arrest. Open up, I say!’ They had to break down the door to get to us. I held his hand one last time and kissed him goodbye. They grabbed him then, and dragged him out of the room. After that, my mind had reached a point where it couldn’t register any more pain – it became numb. I couldn’t think, I couldn’t speak. It was as if I was trying to protect myself from the pain of reality. Sophie’s trial had brought me back to life. If there was any chance, however slim, of me seeing her one last time, I would jump at it.  Which is why, when the Scholl family burst through the doors, their faces a mess of emotion, I was already waiting, separated from my best friend by a thick wooden door and a Gestapo soldier. Robert Scholl would have none of the Gestapo’s ‘closed trial’ nonsense. Disregarding the soldier who was desperately trying to ward him off, he burst into the courtroom the rest of us following in a stream. I looked up to the pedestal where I knew Sophie would be standing. And there she was. A wave of déjà vu hit me, reminding me of the first time I’d seen her so many years ago, perched, bird like, on the front steps of her building. Tears filled my eyes as the pain hit me afresh. Her eyes met mine, and we stood, locking eyes. A brief smile warmed her face as she saw her family, and then went back to it's stone-like mask. Robert Scholl ran to the front of the courtroom, yelling

"Her father, I'm their father - and a lawyer! I'm defending them now, it's my right!" I looked up at the judge, hoping that the emotional strain thick in the air and in the voice of a father who desperately loved his children would sway him to a more lenient decision. The judge merely narrowed his eyes, a nasty grin on his flabby face, and shook his head once. It was over, the verdict given. From the bits and pieces I had heard of the trial, I gathered that Sophie and Hans were to be executed the same day. My eyes filled with tears as they led Sophie and Hans away. Wrenching away from her captors, Sophie turned, and shouted to her family

“I love you! Don’t forget me!” And then, locking eyes with me, she smiled, and said

“The sun still shines.” And then they led her away. Those words brought me back to the day she’d asked me for a summary of my book, The White Rose, and I’d told her all the characters died. Trying to cheer her up, I’d told her that it was only a book; you could shut it when you chose to and pretend they lived happily ever after. Just a book. The sun still shines. But this was not a book; I couldn’t stop the terrible events and re-invent them in my head so that everything came out cookie cutter perfect. And so Sophie would die. But she would not be forgotten, I vowed to myself as I was escorted out of the court room. I would make sure Germany never forgot the brave, sweet girl who gave her life for a cause that she believed in. The sun still shines.

Memories XI

I gulped, trying to moisten my dry throat. I was standing in the atrium of the auditorium, keeping an eye out for anyone who might compromise Sophie and Hans’ mission.  Sophie had seemed relieved when I’d told her I knew about her part in the White Rose Society.

“It was so hard to keep it from you, but secrecy was top priority, as I didn’t know your exact stance on Hitler’s reign. But you don’t have to prove yourself to me by keeping watch. I’ve always known you were the best friend I could ever wish for.” But I had insisted, and now here I was, trying desperately to act nonchalant. I could hear the pattering of their feet as they hurriedly dropped off stacks of pamphlets in front of classroom doors. I glanced around, and gasped. The clock showed that they had less than twenty seconds before classes were released. I whistled, first long, then short, warning them of the diminishing time. Their footsteps picked up speed, and I saw Sophie right above me, looking over the edge of the auditorium from the balcony on the third floor, a huge stack of pamphlets still in her hands. At that moment, a janitor rounded the corner. I gasped in horror, whistling to signal the entrance of another person. But it was too late, he’d already seen her. Locking eyes with me, Sophie twisted her mouth into that half smile that I’d become so familiar with, and opening her arms, thrust the stack of leaflets over the edge just as the bell rang to end classes. Then she turned and ran away, becoming enveloped in the sea of people.

Memories X

I woke up the next morning feeling wretched. After my tearful flight home, I’d wanted nothing more than the comfort of Sophie’s hand, or the warmth of Willi’s embrace. And now I knew that I could have neither. They were weaving a web of their own demise, and I was sitting by, watching them do this. My head aching, I decided that fresh air would be the best thing for me right then. Throwing on a sweater and some shoes, I ran to the park, letting the frigid February air numb my face and my mind. Suddenly, a pair of arms wrapped around me. Twisting around, I looked up at the perpetrator. It was Willi. He was smiling as if nothing in the world was wrong, as if his friends hadn’t just planned their own imprisonment. I could feel my eyes welling up with tears. Willi noticed, and wiped them away.

“What’s wrong, Bea? What happened?” I buried my face in his sweater before answering. In a low voice, I told him exactly what I had seen and heard last night. When I finished, Willi shook his head in defeated.

“I never imagined we’d have an audience. Lucky it was you and not the Gestapo. Before I explain, I just want you to know that I quit last night – their suicide mission is tomorrow. Hans was taking too many risks, leaving too much evidence out. Sophie had always been there to rationalize him, to balance out some of his more foolish mistakes, but she seemed changed last night – more reckless. They started to involve you – that’s why I quit. I couldn’t have them do that. Even if you had no idea what you were guarding them from, they were still putting you in danger. That was the final straw. I think the group had been drifting apart these last weeks. I believe this will be the final act of the White Rose Society. Others are quitting now too. All you need to do now is pretend like you never saw or heard anything. You can’t even tell Sophie. The fewer who know that you know something about the White Rose Society, the better.” I gaped up at him, not fully believing what I’d heard. A mixture of relief and anger rushed through me.

“So that’s it? You’re just out? What about tomorrow, when they’re putting their lives at risk for what they believe in? Won’t you at least help them? Or try to talk them out of it? I can’t believe you! You’re leaving your friends when they need you the most!” I griped, pounding my fists weakly against his chest. He grabbed my wrists, and said

“Bea, listen, I’ve already tried talking sense into them – they won’t listen! I’ve tried. You don’t know how hard I’ve tried. But what I have to think about now is me, and my family. If I’m found guilty of conspiracy against Hitler, my father loses all credibility. My family would be ruined. There isn’t anything else I can do. I’m sorry Bea.” Tears were streaming down both our faces by then.

“No. If they won’t stop, I’ll have to help. Sophie is like a sister to me. I can’t just let her go off without someone keeping watch. I have to help them. I can’t loose her. I can’t.” I sobbed, and turned away determinedly. Willi caught me by the shoulder and spun me around.

“Bea, no. You can’t! If they’re caught and someone figures out that you were keeping watch for them, well that’s all the evidence the Gestapo needs to send you to jail, or even kill you. There is no justice in the ‘People’s Court’. Please. Don’t do this.” I stared wildly up at him, beyond reason. I had to help Sophie. Wrenching away again, I sprinted for Sophie’s apartment. I heard Willi calling after me, but I kept on my course. I had to save Sophie.

Memories VIIII

The sun was going down quickly, and the night air was chilly. Clutching my thin cardigan around my shoulders, I hurried through the half dark streets, always keeping Sophie in sight. She was hurrying with her head down, not looking at anyone. Rounding a corner, I stopped suddenly. Sophie was entering a book shop. I looked up at the gloomy awning, which was nearly invisible in the waning light. As soon as the door had clanged shut behind Sophie, I sprinted to the entrance, and peered through. Sophie was speaking to the owner. Nodding at her, he pointed a finger to one of the bookshelves, and made a pulling motion with his hands. Sophie walked over and grasped the shelf, pulling it towards her. Suddenly it slid back, revealing a hidden door. Hunching over, Sophie opened the door and entered. The store keeper closed the door behind her, and thrust the shelf back to its original position, and then returned to his post behind the counter. Making up my mind, I reached out and opened the shop’s door. I held my shoulders erect, and walked confidently up to the counter. The man peered suspiciously at me through his thick glasses. Glaring right back, I said

“I’m looking for my friend – Sophie Scholl. We were supposed to meet here to, ah, discuss some classes.” He snorted.

“Listen, lady – I haven’t seen your friend, and if you want to study in my place, come back at more of a reasonable hour. I don’t like keeping these late hours just so stragglers can come in and cram the night before a test.” I was furious. He was outright lying to me now. I had just seen Sophie enter the shop. Glancing at him, with a sneer on his face and his arms crossed over his thick chest, I knew I would get nowhere arguing with him. Finally I huffed

“Fine.” And stomped out of the store. Leaving the building, I sat down on the wall of a building opposite it. I was so tired. I figured I’d just take a little rest before heading home, when suddenly, another shadowy figure sailed past me and into the bookshop. I watched as it talked to the shopkeeper, and then entered the secret passage. Running over to the building, I heard the secret door click. Suddenly, I heard a voice. Looking around, I saw that the streets were completely deserted, and the shopkeeper was keeping vigil at his desk again. The voice started again, from somewhere below me. Looking down, I realized I was sitting on a grate. The faintest of lights was visible below me. Peering down into the gloom, I saw the top of two heads – one of them was speaking.

“Christoph. Finally. Next time, be a little more on time. Sophie has something to tell us,” Said the larger head, gesturing to the smaller one. From this I deduced that the larger person was Hans, and the smaller was Sophie. The person who had just entered was one of their group, Christoph Probst. Other voices jeered at him, and I made out the voices of Alex Schmorell and Traute Lafrenz, others belonging to their clique. Sophie cleared her throat.

“Alright, let’s get to business. I’m now calling to order the fourth meeting of the White Rose Society.” I gasped, clapping a hand over my mouth. That was why Sophie had been so interested in my book title – it had been a contender for the name of her secret society! I had heard about them, of course. They’d distributed numerous anti-Hitler pamphlets. I never suspected that the name of the group and the name of my book being the same were anything more than a coincidence. I pressed my face against the grate, eager to catch every word that was said. Sophie began talking again.

“Though we’ve been doing well with distributing the pamphlets and graphitizing on buildings, I feel as though we may need something special, just an extra kick to get our cause noticed. I’ve had this idea in mind for a while, and I think it will really bring attention to our movement.” A few groans were heard, and Alex said,

“Sophie, just spit it out. Enough with the dramatization. We don’t have enough time for your theatrics.” I could just see Sophie’s answering glare.

“Alright then,” she sniffed, “Here it is. We have to take our pamphlets inside the school and distribute them between classes. People won’t be able to ignore our logic when it is literally right on their front doorstep.”

“Fantastic idea, Soph, absolutely phenomenal! I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of that before!” Hans chuckled. “It’s perfect! All we need is someone to stand guard, someone to make a distraction if anyone who may report us gets near. We must take precautions.” Someone snorted, and said,

“Funny, Hans, it did seem like it could have been your idea. It’s stupid enough. Sophie, I’m surprised at you. Distributing pamphlets during school hours is practically guaranteeing you a spot in jail. And as for precautions, that’s rich, coming from the man who brought his Nazi girlfriend to one of our meetings, and always carries condemning evidence on his person. For God’s sake Hans, must you be a hypocrite all the time?” Hans lunged at the unseen speaker, and from where I was, all that could be heard were a few sickening thuds and some muffled yelling. Other members rushed out of my sight to help the scuffling pair, but their assistance proved to be unnecessary, A thud on the secret door and a few harsh words whispered were enough to silence the brawlers.

Hans stood back underneath me, and continued as though he’d never been interrupted.

“I say it’s a swell idea. I volunteer to distribute the leaflets, and as Sophie thought of the idea, it’s only fair that she gets to go too. As for a lookout, Soph, what about your friend, the pretty blonde one… what’s her name – Beatrix, right? She could stand watch. Just tell her you’re doing a prank, or something. She’ll believe you.” I stiffened in surprise, but Hans wasn’t finished.

“Now let’s have a vote. All in favor raise your hand.” Some movement could be heard from below. Hans fell backwards suddenly, as if someone had thrown him.

“Hey now, what’s that for?” he demanded self righteously. A new head moved into my view. From the angle I was at, I couldn’t see any features on the nameless person below. Hans continued to whine

“And why didn’t you vote yes? I thought you’d agree with the plan!” The figure slowly shook its head.

“No. I don’t. I wholeheartedly disagree.” And then my world fell apart. It wasn’t because I’d just realized that Sophie was waist deep in a plot that could get her and her whole family put in jail – maybe even killed. It wasn’t the fact that she and Hans were now implicating me in this plot that I was sure would lead them to a guillotine of their own making. It was because I knew that voice. The voice that had told me, so many times that it would always be careful, the voice that had told me a hundred times that it loved me. The voice below belonged to Willi Graf.

Memories VIII

Munich University: 1943

I was reading in the shade of a large oak, the sunlight casting dappled shadows over the page I was reading, and a light breeze teasing strands of my hair out of their neat braid. I reveled in the serenity of the moment. Events had taken a turn for the serious and after everyone had returned from summer break. Sophie was chalk white, with dark rings under her wide eyes. She was less prone to chatting, and more so to sitting deeply in thought, somehow still managing to look like a hunted rabbit. She was twitchy and irritable, only enforcing my suspicions of some sort of mysterious event taking place. Willi had also returned grave. His recent trip to the front lines seemed to have drained him of his vitality. A shadow blocked the words I was reading, and I looked up to See Sophie stationed above me, a smile on her face.

“How are you Bea? So nice to see you! I haven’t been around recently, I’ve got this terrible schedule – hardly a free minute to spare,” she chattered.  I grinned up at her, then patted the ground beside me.

“Take a seat, won’t you? We can have a little chat. A little gossip session. We need to catch up,” I said, smiling at the prospect of an afternoon with Sophie. She slid down the tree next to me. I started chattering away immediately. She wasn’t listening, though. She had this strange little look on her face, this half smile, somber little expression that she got when she was deep in thought.

“Soph. Soph! SOPHIE!” I chanted, getting louder as she continued her strange stare. She was starting to frighten me. Finally breaking out of it, she asked

“Are you still reading that book? The B. Traven one? The White Rose?” I glanced down at the cover.

“Yes, I had to put it down for a while because of a busy schedule, but now that things have calmed down a bit, I’m taking it back up again,” I said, still puzzled over her quizzical look.

“It’s a nice title. Expressive. I remember your analysis of it – purity and innocence, bravery in the face of evil. What happens, though? You’re almost done. I’m interested. What happens to those in the White Rose?” She laughed at her little rhyme, but her serious expression told me she really wanted an answer. I was almost done with the book. The ending had disappointed me so far. Becoming less and less of a romance novel and more of an action one, the last scenes were gory and graphic.

“They die,” I said simply. “All of the main characters, anyway.” I looked at Sophie, waiting for another onslaught of questions. But they didn’t come. Sophie had gone completely white.

“They… just die. That’s it?” She murmured. I laughed at her stricken expression.

“It’s just a book, Soph. You can shut it any time you want. If you stop reading early enough, you can make your own ending – pretend they all live happily ever after. The sun still shines,” I said jokingly. Sophie just stared grimly ahead, then glanced at her watch and jumped up.

            “I have to go now, or I’ll be late.” Abruptly remembering my existence, she stared at me with a mix of sadness and longing.

“Bea, I’m – I just wish…” She stopped, looking at me brokenly.

“Soph, what is it? What’s wrong?” I asked in concern. Sophie took a moment, and then seemed to collect herself. Plastering a faux grin onto her face, she chimed

“Nothing. Oh Bea, don’t mind me. It’s just the stress of these exams and all the classes… and summer break was no vacation. Nursing wounded soldiers, seeing what happens out there… it changes a person.” I looked at her concernedly.

“Soph, if you need to take a week off to recuperate, I’m sure the teachers would understand. Other people do it, and with a much weaker excuse,” I said helpfully.

“No, I’m fine. I just need to lie down for a while. After I get to this meeting, that is. I have to rush now, I’m already late. I’ll see you later,” she replied, and walked off quickly in the opposite direction. Narrowing my eyes at her retreating form, a suspicion began growing in my mind. As far as I knew, Sophie wasn’t involved in any extracurricular activities, clubs or such that would require a meeting. And professors never had meetings after hours. This strange meeting that she couldn’t be late to must have had something to do with the mysterious pamphlet I’d found on the train. I had to figure this out. Gathering up my books, I hurried after Sophie’s retreating form.

Memories VII

The year passed in a flash, with a great many events of little consequence. Sophie and I grew even closer, though I expanded my group of friends substantially. Sophie seemed content to speak philosophy all day with her brother and his friends. Willi joined Hans’ high winded group, and remained close friends with me. Sophie remained in a romantic long distance relationship with her long time boyfriend and devoted Nazi, Fritz Hartnagel. Over the year, Willi and I grew closer, and after a few dates, decided to become a couple. And then the year was over. Walking to the train station with Willi’s arm draped protectively over my shoulder, I smiled at Sophie consolingly. She was off to serve as a nurse for summer break. Sophie was required, as she had not been a member of the Hitler Youth for as long as a devoted Nazi was supposed to, to serve in the war effort. I was heading home to visit my family, and Sophie and I were once more on the same train. Willi left us at the station with a peck on the cheek for me and a hug for Sophie. He was going to work as a medic with Hans and his group. I reached up and hugged him as he pulled away.

“Be safe,” I whispered the first cloud of worry crossing my mind as I thought of what his job entailed – he would be right out there in the front lines where all the fighting was happening.  He smiled at me and touched my cheek lightly.

“Aren’t I always?” he enquired gently before trotting away to his train. Sophie threaded her arm through mine consolingly.

“It’ll be alright - they’re all going to be fine,” she intoned soothingly, patting my shoulder.

Sitting on the train, I pulled out another B. Traven book. Sophie laughed at my book choice.

 “What are you reading? Another B. Traven? Those books aren’t even that good, you know.” She smiled and batted at the book playfully. “What’s it called?”

“The White Rose. And his books are good. Full of romance, and, and…” I shrugged.

“The White Rose… interesting. What do you think it means?” Sophie mused. For her, a title was not merely a title. It was something deeper, something with a meaning. I thought for a bit.

“I suppose it represents purity - innocence and bravery in the face of evil,” I said, shrugging my shoulders.

“Innocence and bravery in the face of evil… eloquent. It just might work,” Sophie mused. I smiled halfheartedly up at her, wondering what she was talking about.  Suddenly snapping out of her strange revere, she said

“Would you mind terribly going down and getting a sandwich from the trolley? I haven’t had lunch yet…” I grinned at her, replying

“And no one believes me when I tell them you’re secretly lazy.” Nonetheless I got up, accepting the folded bills from Sophie, and got up to go buy her lunch.

The train ride was lengthy, and before long Sophie was rocked to sleep by the gentle motion of the cars swaying back and forth. She was the picture of serenity. Lately she’d seemed stressed, on edge, and jumpy. I reached across to adjust the blanket on her lap, when my fingers grazed a white slip of paper, causing it to drift to the floor. Reaching down, I picked it up to return it to her when I noticed some of her scribbles on the back. Thinking it would be nice to edit her writing as a surprise for when she woke up, I began reading. The front seemed to be some uninteresting philosophical sentiments, things I wouldn’t waste my time reading. I flipped to Sophie’s scribbles on the back, and began reading.

‘I think he’s part of it. He said part of the second paragraph just Thursday… “Goethe speaks of the Germans as a tragic people, like the Jews and the Greeks, but today they seem to be a rather spineless, weak willed herd of hangers-on…” I found this in his room. He must be a part. They must be trying to distribute these. Hans must be more careful. He’s sure to blunder somewhere – and this is something that his good looks won’t be able to get him out of. But he’s got others to steady him, I’m sure of it. Yet I feel obligated to help. Are some of these beliefs not mine? Stolen from my lips by Hans? And I may be the only one who can save them from my brother.’

My head spun. Something dangerous was going on, and Sophie was weaseling her way into the middle of it. Looking up at her sleeping form, I saw a shadow flicker across her face and a frown crease her brow.  Whatever she had gotten herself into; it was dark enough to haunt her dreams. And I knew that until I could figure out what was going on, this mysterious danger would haunt me too.

Memories VI

The sound of a cough startled us both, and Sophie seemed to waken from her revere. Looking up, I noticed a dashing young man standing at the door to our compartment, awkwardly holding his suitcase under one arm and his ticket clenched in the other. We’d just pulled up to another station, and in our deep editing session, Sophie and I had failed to notice our new compartment companion. Feeling helpful, I sprang up from my seat and took his luggage from him, hoisting it up towards the rack on the wall. To my immense embarrassment, I hadn’t hefted the baggage up with enough force, and it came plummeting back downward, thumping me squarely in the stomach and knocking me into the strange young man. Stumbling back into the hall, he caught me before crashing to the ground. Blushing furiously, I extracted myself from his grasp, and then offered him my hand. He hoisted himself up, then took my hand and brought it to his mouth, kissing it lightly. This only served to deepen my blush as he said gallantly.

“I’m Willi Graf. My apologies…” he trailed off awkwardly, not sure who to apologize to, and what for. I hastily filled in the silence with

“Beatrix. I’m Beatrix Rosenthal. I should be the one apologizing. I didn’t mean to drop your suitcase like that, and then knock you…” I trailed off, too mortified to continue.

“No need to vex yourself. It was all in the pursuit of being helpful,” he hurried to assure me, then enquired “Where are you traveling to? Please do not answer if you feel it inappropriate.” I smiled in what I hoped was a charming manner and replied

“Munich University. My friend and I will be attending there next week. She’s just a year older than I am, as she had hoped working as a kindergarten teacher would suffice for her year of service, but it turned out she needed to work another year as a nurse in order to be able to receive credit. (Jud Newborn, Annette Dumbach)” The young man’s smile brightened considerably.

“You don’t say!” he exulted, “That’s where I’m headed too! Except, unlike your friend, I’m a year young. They had me skip a grade.” He said modestly.

“Skip a grade! I didn’t know that was possible!” I said admiringly, fluttering my eyelashes. Willi’s confused look made me feel like an imbecile, and I quit my embarrassing antics. I silently cursed Alzie Bergmann, a friend in twelfth grade who had taught me that the key to a man’s heart is through your eyelashes.

Willi laughed as I turned beet red again, and then offered me his arm, escorting me back into the compartment. Sophie looked at us as we walked in, raising an eyebrow in question, and then, noticing our interlocked arms, her mouth twisted into a barely suppressed smile. I hadn’t thought it possible to turn a deeper shade of red, but Sophie’s assuming look made it possible.

“Willi, this is my friend, Sophie Scholl - Soph, this is Willi Graf,” I said, shooting her a warning look. “He’s going to Munich too!” That sobered her up, and she looked at him with real interest.

“Nice to meet you, Willi. Funny coincidence that we’re in the same compartment, isn’t it? But then again, there are so many going to Munich. My brother, Hans Scholl, is going there too.” Sophie said, smiling at Willi.

“Hans? I’ll keep an eye out for him. It’ll be nice to know someone before going in. Thank you.” He replied, and then took his seat. The rest of the train ride passed in interesting conversation, though towards the end it became hard for me to follow. Sophie and Willi had apparently unearthed the fact that they shared many of the same political views, and were talking in depth about philosophy and Hitler’s reign. I resigned myself, and pulled out The Treasure of the Sierra Madre - a book by B. Traven (New World Encyclopedia) who was one of my favorite authors. As the train pulled up into the station, we said our farewells to Willi, and extracted a promise from him that once everything had settled down, he would come and visit. Sophie and I were assigned separate lodgings, and cheerfully promised to stop by each other’s tiny apartment regularly.

Memories V

The train whistle blew, the shrieking note piercing the air, drowning out even my mother’s loud sobbing.  Sophie and I stood on the train platform together, our numerous bags surrounding us, as well as various sobbing family members. I had been dreaming about this moment for years. Sophie and I were attending Munich University together, both majoring in philosophy, though Sophie had added on biology at the last moment, staying true to her perfectionist, hardworking character. I grimaced as my mother draped her arms around me for the umpteenth time, patting my hair, my cheeks, my arms, all the while sobbing

“My baby! Oh how you’ve grown! My baby! Gone to college!” I rolled my eyes over her shoulder at Sophie, who was also busy consoling a sobbing mother. Mrs. Scholl, poor, sweet lady that she was looked like the loss of her fourth child to college would finish her off.  Mr. Scholl, the robust, heavyset man that he was couldn’t control the solitary tear of pride that coursed down his cheek as he watched his daughter board the train. Saying my last farewells, I grabbed my thick brown suitcase and stepped on the train. Over the years that Sophie and I had been friends, we had grown and changed in many different ways. Still the silent, ponderous one, Sophie had turned to philosophy and poetry to escape the reality of the wartime we were living in. I had turned to my looks. My blonde hair and big blue eyes were my best assets, and I admit to being quite vain sometimes. Sophie’s hair had grown darker, though she still kept it meticulously groomed, and she was still petite.  Sophie darted ahead of me, scouting out our seats on the train. Finding them, she turned triumphantly to me, and brandished her ticket, waving it in the air.

“And so we are off… off to our new life, to new beginnings. This is the start of something amazing. I can just feel it!” she breathed as she settled down on the thick red seat opposite of mine. I smiled indulgently as she spouted off inspirational poetry that she felt supplemented the moment. I put my suitcases on the rack above my head, shook out my skirts, and settled back in my seat, enjoying the moment of rest while it lasted. Losing myself in the luxury of the soft chairs, I drifted off.

A sharp twinge in my leg awoke me. I started up, and realized the pain had been administered by Sophie’s impatient hand, jostling me awake.

“Are we there?” I gulped, jumping up from my seat, and banging my head painfully on the luggage rack. Sophie sighed and settled back down into her seat.

“No, we’re not leaving, I just wanted to know if you could edit this a bit…” and she opened her battered brown journal, the one she wrote all her thoughts, poems, ideas, etc. in. Clearing her throat, she read,

“Just as I can’t see a clear brook without at least stopping to dangle my feet in it, I can’t see a meadow in May and simply pass by. There is nothing more pleasant than such a fragrant earth, the blossoms of clover swaying above it like lace, and the petal bedecked branches of the fruit trees reaching upwards, as if they wanted to rescue themselves from this tranquil sea. No, I have to turn from the path and immerse myself in this richness…” She trailed off, glancing at my face for approval. I nodded thoughtfully, and then put in my two cents.

“Maybe change pleasant to seductive…” Sophie interrupted me with a snort.

“You are such a romantic. It could just be pleasant, but no, you have to make it something sensual,” she teased, but nonetheless put her pen to paper again, and began scratching away. I cleared my throat and continued.

“The only other thing I’d change is the ‘clover swaying above it like a light foam’ it sounds more poetic.” Sophie nodded without looking up, and finished her editing with her tongue between her teeth.

Memories IV

Sophie smiled grimly at me.

“He’s bound to get into trouble on his way down. He always does,” she sighed, looking regretfully after her brother’s back as he peddled away. I smirked knowingly.

“Don’t worry, that’s just what brothers do,” I advised. As if to solidify my point, at that moment my mother’s voice was heard, yelling at the top of her lungs,

“Erich Ritcher Rosenthal! You get back in here at once and…” The rest of her sentence was cut off by the banging of our front door, shooting out Erich, who looked like he was running for his life. Grabbing his bike, he pedaled madly across the street and out of view. Glancing at Sophie, I saw her shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. Grabbing her by the hand, I pulled her to her feet.

“C’mon. I just got some lemonade – we can have a picnic in my room,” I laughed, dragging her towards my house.

“Thank you. I think I’ll like it here,” Sophie giggled as we raced towards the building. And so began an incredible friendship that would span many, many years.

Memories (1)

     “Who is this?”  The raspy voice of my three-year old granddaughter Bea caught my attention. Smiling into her bright blue eyes, I turned my gaze to the photo that she was holding. The children had come over to my apartment for the day, as their mother was working overtime and couldn’t bear to leave them in daycare again.  We had spent a cozy evening going through boxes of mementos I had stored in my attic.  Photos of my wedding had come into light for the first time in years, and baby pictures of my sister and me had been unearthed. We’d shared many laughs over family pictures (Did you really wear your hair like that?), and the children had learned that nearly every dusty old picture had unearthed a story in my mind. But as I gazed at the faded, torn edges of the picture Bea held in her chubby hands, I was at a loss for words. Slowly silence settled over the room as Jonah and Oliver shuffled over to where I was sitting, anticipating a good, long story. I swallowed - my throat suddenly dry as I looked into the piercing eyes of my friend, now long gone.  The story was long, and hard to tell. Yet it needed to be told.  As long as there was a voice to faithfully narrate the story, I knew that Sophie would never truly be dead.  Looking into the eyes of my grandchildren, I took a long, deep breath. And so I began my narration of Sophie Scholl and the White Rose Society.