My Dearest Dietrich Read online

  “A haunting love story…. With beautiful prose and picturesque descriptions, Amanda Barratt draws on the true life events that shaped the romance between Dietrich Bonhoeffer and Maria von Wedemeyer…. Infused into every page is a faith that not only Dietrich but Maria was willing to stand on, no matter the cost.”

  —JAIME JO WRIGHT, author of The Curse of Misty Wayfair and Christy Award winner The House on Foster Hill

  “An extraordinary story, richly researched and beautifully told. Within these pages is a treasure lost to time and now returned to vivid life through Amanda Barratt’s gifted pen.”

  —LAURA FRANTZ, Christy Award–winning author of The Lacemaker

  “As beautiful as it is brave, My Dearest Dietrich is an illuminating novel that exposes the darkness and chases the shadows away. This is a multi-faceted story of the highest stakes and the deepest loves, and Amanda Barratt has proved herself worthy of its telling.”

  —JOCELYN GREEN, award-winning author of Between Two Shores

  “Every once in a while a novel so captures my heart that it feels like a gift from the author. My Dearest Dietrich is that kind of book. Barratt has taken a true love story, weaving it into a narrative which is endearing, heart-wrenching, and tender. I savored every word of this novel, reflected on the wisdom infused into each chapter, and allowed hope to fill my heart even to the very end. This is a story we so desperately need now.”

  —SUSIE FINKBEINER, author of All Manner of Things and the best-selling Pearl Spence series

  “It is not often I have the sublime pleasure to read a novel that lingers with me long after I’ve finished the last page and closed the book. Amanda Barratt’s stellar writing creates a world that, based on truth, also demonstrates such intimate knowledge of her characters as to make them living, breathing, thinking human beings. This is a kaleidoscopic emotional journey through heart-stopping moments of danger and risk faced by two star-crossed lovers. Their tale will take you from weeping over war’s futility to awe at one man’s unwavering faith and conviction.

  “A tribute to those who sacrificed greatly to try and bring peace and lasting freedom to a nation ruled by war, My Dearest Dietrich is that rare and beautiful body of work that will appeal to a broad range of readers, including fans of historical fiction and Christian romance.”

  —KATE BRESLIN, best-selling author of For Such a Time

  My Dearest Dietrich: A Novel of Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s Lost Love © 2019 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.

  Many of the letters quoted in this work are genuine correspondence taken from Love Letters from Cell 92 by Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Maria von Wedemeyer. Copyright © 1992 by C. H. Beck’sche Verlagsbuchhandlung. Translation copyright © 1994 by HarperCollins Publishers, Ltd., Used by permission of Zondervan. www.zondervan.com

  Other letters taken from Letters and Papers from Prison, revised, enlarged ed. by Dietrich Bonhoeffer, translated from the German by R. H. Fuller, Frank Clark, et al. Copyright © 1953, 1967, 1971 by SCM Press Ltd. Reprinted with the permission of Scribner, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc. All rights reserved.

  All photos used with permission: page 8 courtesy of Wikimedia Commons and the Deutsches Bundesarchiv, Bild 183-R0211-316 / CC-BY-SA 3.0; page 11 in the public domain; page 346 courtesy of Casarsa, iStock by Getty Images, 180847842.

  Scripture quotations are from the King James Version.

  ISBN 978-0-8254-4605-4, print

  ISBN 978-0-8254-7579-5, epub

  Printed in the United States of America

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  To those who spoke out for the voiceless and paid the ultimate price.

  “Blessed is the heart with strength to stop its beating for honor’s sake. Blessed is the match consumed in kindling flame.”

  —HANNAH SZENES, 1921–1944

  For Your glory, Lord.

  Acknowledgments

  Bringing Dietrich and Maria’s story to the pages of this novel would not have been possible without the outpouring of love and support I received. This story captured my imagination in ways as unique and heart-wrenching as the lives of these characters, and I could not have walked this road alone.

  I am deeply grateful to …

  The authors and publishers whose works on Bonhoeffer I painstakingly pored over, particularly Eric Metaxas’s Bonhoeffer: Pastor, Martyr, Prophet, Spy. I’m especially grateful to Eric’s biography for introducing me to the love story of this great man of faith. Also to Ferdinand Schlingensiepen for his impeccably researched Dietrich Bonhoeffer 1906–1945: Martyr, Thinker, Man of Resistance. Without the happy hours I spent with these treasure troves of knowledge, this book would never have been written. I’m also profoundly grateful to the late Eberhard Bethge, and his wife, Renate, for being the first to share the story of their beloved friend with the world.

  The amazing team at Kregel Publications who labored with me to bring this novel to print. To each and every one of you … thank you, thank you. A special shout-out to Janyre Tromp, my brilliant developmental editor. Working with someone who shared my passion for Bonhoeffer’s life and legacy was truly an answer to prayer!

  My wonderful agent, Rachel Kent. Your wise encouragement makes the writing life all the more joy-filled!

  I owe a debt of gratitude to Bishop Kenneth Kinner, who shared with me his memories of Maria von Wedemeyer-Weller from the 1960s. To have the privilege of speaking with someone whose life was touched by Maria’s is an experience I will always cherish.

  Emily Putzke, who read this story in the midst of a jam-packed summer of World War II research trips. Your willingness to take time out of a busy schedule to help make My Dearest Dietrich as accurate as possible was a true gift!

  My beloved friend and critique partner, Angela Bell. Thank you for critiquing this story on a tight deadline and offering great feedback. Reading your encouraging comments brought tears to my eyes!

  Schuyler McConkey—for loving this idea when I shared it with you, and walking this journey with me every step of the way. Thank you for your readiness to talk Bonhoeffer and theology, taking me to the most amazing coffee shops, and always being there to listen. You’re a gem, dear friend!

  A special thanks goes to Adriana Gwyn, who translated an entire book from German to English during a nine-hour Skype call. Working with you was definitely one of the highlights of the research process. Thank you so much for sharing your gift of languages with me!

  My PIT Crew, for praying me through the process. The time, dedication, and love you invest in interceding as I write are gifts I do not take lightly. Thank you!

  My dad, for taking me to Holocaust museums, watching World War II movies with me, and listening to me talk about Dietrich for months on end. I love doing life together!

  My beautiful and amazing
sis, Sara. There are not enough words to describe what you mean to me. You’re the first person I shared this idea with, and the love you shower over me and this project continues to blow me away. Without a doubt, you are my “Eberhard.” The invaluable time you invested in brainstorming and editing in the midst of your own work shaped this story into what it is today.

  My mom. Thank you for that dinner conversation so many years ago, when you happened to mention, “I’ve been reading this incredible biography about a guy named Dietrich Bonhoeffer.” You encouraged me to keep going when I wanted to give up, prayed for me, invested valuable time in helping me research, and read and edited this project more times than I can count. You’re the truest example I know of a strong, godly woman, and my love for you is beyond measure!

  Lastly, I’m forever grateful to my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. You are my Abba, my Strong Tower, and the breath in my lungs. Thank you for the sweet assurance that whoever and wherever I am, I’ll forever belong to you.

  Character List

  The Bonhoeffer Family

  Dietrich Bonhoeffer—A thirty-six-year-old theologian who now works as a double agent in the conspiracy against Adolf Hitler.

  Dr. Karl Bonhoeffer—An eminent psychiatrist and Dietrich’s father.

  Paula Bonhoeffer—Dietrich’s mother.

  Klaus Bonhoeffer—Dietrich’s older brother. A lawyer and a member of the conspiracy against Hitler.

  Emmi Bonhoeffer—Klaus’s wife.

  Children—Walter, Thomas, and Cornelie.

  Ursula Schleicher, née Bonhoeffer—Dietrich’s older sister.

  Rüdiger Schleicher—Ursula’s husband and part of the conspiracy.

  Children—Renate and Hans-Walter.

  Christel von Dohnanyi, née Bonhoeffer—Dietrich’s older sister.

  Hans von Dohnanyi—Christel’s husband. Lawyer in the Abwehr

  (German Military Intelligence) and key member of the conspiracy. Children—Klaus, Christoph, and Bärbel.

  Sabine Leibholz, née Bonhoeffer—Dietrich’s twin sister. Was forced to escape Germany due to her husband’s (Gerhard Leibholz) Jewish ancestry.

  Children—Marianne and Christiane.

  Lotte—The Bonhoeffers’ maid.

  The von Wedemeyer Family

  Maria von Wedemeyer—The eighteen-year-old daughter of a Prussian landowner whose family is anti-Nazi, though both her father and brother serve in the Wehrmacht.

  Major Hans von Wedemeyer—Maria’s father.

  Ruth von Wedemeyer, née von Kleist—Maria’s mother. Sometimes called “Ruthchen.”

  Ruth-Alice von Bismarck, née von Wedemeyer—Maria’s older sister.

  Klaus von Bismarck—Ruth-Alice’s husband.

  Max von Wedemeyer—Maria’s older brother and a soldier in the Wehrmacht.

  Hans-Werner von Wedemeyer—Maria’s younger brother.

  Christine von Wedemeyer—Maria’s younger sister.

  Lala von Wedemeyer—Maria’s younger sister.

  Peter von Wedemeyer—Maria’s younger brother.

  Ruth von Kleist-Retzow—Maria’s maternal grandmother.

  The Conspirators

  Admiral Wilhelm Canaris—Head of the Abwehr. Working closely with Hans von Dohnanyi to overthrow the Nazi regime.

  General Hans Oster—Member of the Abwehr and leading figure in the German resistance.

  General Ludwig Beck—Leading figure in the resistance against Hitler.

  Wilhelm Schmidhuber—Member of the Abwehr who participated in the Operation 7 plot to smuggle fourteen Jews into Switzerland.

  Henning von Tresckow—Maria’s uncle. Heavily involved in the plots to assassinate Hitler.

  Fabian von Schlabrendorff—Maria’s cousin. Involved in the plots to assassinate Hitler.

  General Paul von Hase—Military commandant of Berlin, Dietrich’s uncle, and conspirator.

  Other Characters

  Eberhard Bethge—Dietrich’s best friend.

  The Vogel family—Maria completes her required national service by working as a nanny for this family.

  Manfred Roeder—Judge in charge of interrogating Dietrich and other arrested conspirators.

  Oskar von Scheffler—Gestapo police detective and acquaintance of Maria.

  Corporal Knobloch—Guard at Tegel Prison.

  Prologue

  February 1945

  Flossenbürg, Germany

  Overhead, there was no sky.

  Or rather, it was unlike any sky Maria had glimpsed before. Unvarnished gray, almost white. If the sun ever existed, it had long since fled, leaving rays void of color and cheer in its wake.

  The road ahead stretched long and straight. At its end, a great brown building squatted, bricks and roof providing the vista’s only color. Everything else … white. Endless white. Snow on the ground. Billowing smoke. Swirling flakes raining down.

  What those papery flakes represented, what they had once been, Maria couldn’t bear to think of.

  Nein, she must keep to her purpose. Any deviation would be fatal to her sluggish mind, her leaden feet.

  “Dietrich.” The word whispered from her half-frozen lips. “Dietrich.”

  Just keep thinking of him. That would keep her warm.

  It had started as a girlish game of hers, running his name over and over in her mind, turning each syllable, toying with the letters, as she went about her daily duties.

  Now it was the cord that kept her body upright, her limbs moving, and her numb fingers clenched around the handle of the heavy suitcase. With each step, the case jostled against her shin.

  “Dietrich …”

  Just a few more steps.

  “Dietrich …”

  Finally she reached the half-moon-shaped entrance. A guard—weathered face etched with severe lines, black SS cap straight upon his close-shaven hair—looked her over as if she were an apparition. To him, she probably was. A fraülein of only twenty, approaching the gates of a concentration camp on foot. Only she didn’t feel twenty. The weight of these past months, years, had bestowed upon her the mind of a woman three times that.

  “Guten Morgen, Fraülein.” He gave a stiff nod, his shoulders broom-handle straight.

  Oh, honestly. They weren’t in a ballroom, for pity’s sake. It was cold enough to turn water into icicles in seconds. Her fingers had become claws around the case’s handle. Her hair was in tangles, her nose redder than the armband wrapping the man’s right bicep.

  Still, she needed something from this man. And it was better to smile than to make enemies. Hadn’t the Tegel months shown her that?

  “Guten Morgen, Herr Officer. I’m here about a prisoner.”

  His gaze sharpened into even grimmer lines. Undoubtedly, this specimen of SS training had at one time been some mutter’s little boy, some sister’s playmate. Given the girl fits of exasperation, as Max had in their childhood days. Brought a whole new meaning to the word dummkopf, yet done it all so charmingly that she could only throw her hands up … then laugh and ply him with kuchen.

  She’d have to appeal to that, the little boy hidden beneath the skull and crossbones insignia.

  “You’ve got to help me.” It was all too easy to weave desperation through the fabric of her words. Desperation, something Germany—mighty, Führer-led Germany—did not condone, yet its people made bedfellows with. “I’ve walked seven kilometers here, and I’ll have to return on foot. Please, Herr Officer. I need answers. The man I’m searching for … he’s my fiancé.”

  Success. He’d softened somewhat, perhaps at the memory of his own sweetheart. Of happier days when love was a thing to rejoice in, laughter an everyday sound.

  “Ja. You have a name?”

  She nodded. “Bonhoeffer. Dietrich Bonhoeffer.”

  “Wait here.” He moved, as if to turn. Then snapped a glance over his shoulder. “Come inside.” A stiff motion with his black-gloved hand. “You look cold.”

  Forcing her feet to move was accomplished only by sheer willpower. They made their
way inside a large and dark room. A fire—color and warmth at last—lit a large stone hearth.

  “You … um … can warm yourself over there. I’d offer kaffee, but we’re low at present.”

  The warmth beckoned, and she crossed the floor, her boots leaving a watery trail in their wake. She crouched in front of the flames, much the same way the family dog had during long winter nights at Pätzig. For what seemed like an hour, she sat there. Finally, blessed warmth returned to her hands, and she pried them from around the leather handles. Though the tingling and burning that ensued made tears prick her eyes, at least she wasn’t frostbitten.

  The presence of warmth made another of her needs starkly apparent. When had she last eaten? Her hollow stomach—where had the rosy-cheeked girl who devoured plateful after plateful of strudel, gone?—gurgled in protest.

  Yet this need of hers, so weak and human, could wait. It was Dietrich—not theologian Dietrich, or brilliant Dietrich, nor even Tegel Dietrich, but the Dietrich she loved with full and startling intensity—who mattered most at this moment.

  She sensed someone watching her and turned. The guard stood beside the cluttered desk, one hand resting on its top, looking at her, not with detachment, but with something else altogether in his eyes. It couldn’t be pity. Not from a member of Hitler’s trained, lauded, and equipped forces. Not from a man who viewed death as often as a scullery maid saw dirty dishes. Yet … yes, there was pity in those veiled eyes.

  Somehow she managed to force her legs to stand.

  “Well?”

  “I’m sorry, Fraülein. I have no record of anyone by the name of Dietrich Bonhoeffer.”

  “Are you sure?” Where else could they have taken him? They gave her no word in Berlin, no one knew here. How could one man simply disappear, even in the chaos engulfing war-torn Germany?

  “I checked. Our records are meticulous.” He stiffened, as if challenging her, a red-nosed, disheveled fraülein, to question him. Then, softening again, added, “I’m sorry your journey has been wasted. These days … it is easy to misplace people.”