by Cathy Gohlke
Praise for Cathy Gohlke
“Cathy Gohlke is a master at mixing intrigue, romance, beauty, history, and faith into her action-packed plots. . . . Saving Amelie swept me away. A fascinating, heart-pounding, and heartwarming story.”
MELANIE DOBSON, AWARD-WINNING AUTHOR OF CHTEAU OF SECRETS
“Fans of Promise Me This will find they will love [Band of Sisters]just as much. It still has Cathy’s excellent storytelling, historical accuracy, and is a page-turning book you can’t put down.”
RADIANT LIT
“A wonderful story. . . . The characters are strong . . . charming, witty, and some even have a little bit of devil in them.”
ROMANTIC TIMES, 4½-STAR REVIEW OF BAND OF SISTERS
“Historical detail is lush and evocative and keeps the reader riveted. High conflict keeps the reader turning page after page, breathless at the ending, and wishing there were more pages to turn.”
TITLETRAKK.COM ON BAND OF SISTERS
“Compelling . . . well-crafted . . . impressively emotional storytelling. Gohlke has written a page-turning mystery within the pages of a tender story of friendship and the unbreakable bond between sisters.”
FRESHFICTION.COM ON BAND OF SISTERS
“Captivating.”
CHRISTIANBOOKPREVIEWS.COM ON BAND OF SISTERS
“[Band of Sisters is] a compelling and inspiring novel. . . . Gohlke’s fast-paced prose, exceptional pacing, and vibrant characters make for believable historical fiction with a subject matter as resonant today as it was during Maureen and Katie’s time.”
NOVELCROSSING.COM
“Rich with characters and story lines . . . an extremely intricate and compelling story.”
FICTIONADDICT.COM ON BAND OF SISTERS
“Gohlke tells a gripping tale of sacrifice, loss, love, and hope against the setting of familiar historical events.”
PUBLISHERS WEEKLY ON PROMISE ME THIS
“This dramatic and heart-wrenching interpretation . . . will enthrall fans of character-driven Christian fiction and readers who enjoy Francine Rivers.”
LIBRARY JOURNAL, STARRED REVIEW OF PROMISE ME THIS
“[Promise Me This] grabs the reader from the first sentence.”
ROMANTIC TIMES, 4½-STAR TOP PICK REVIEW
“Gohlke’s attention to detail provides believable characters, good dialogue, and historical accuracy.”
LIFE: BEAUTIFUL MAGAZINE ON PROMISE ME THIS
“Explores the depth of human nature and emotions through its three-dimensional, compelling characters. . . . Promise Me This will certainly satisfy romance readers who enjoy historical details and character-driven plots.”
CHRISTIANBOOKPREVIEWS.COM
“Gohlke does not disappoint with her third novel, a carefully researched story full of likable characters struggling to cope with the difficult realities of grief and wartime. . . . [A] sweet, compelling story.”
SHELF-AWARENESS.COM ON PROMISE ME THIS
“[A] riveting story [that] is mesmerizing and compelling as well as historically accurate. This novel of hope, redemption, and promise amidst profound despair is one that will bring the story of the Titanic alive during her centennial.”
FICTIONADDICT.COM ON PROMISE ME THIS
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Saving Amelie
Copyright © 2014 by Cathy Gohlke. All rights reserved.
Cover photograph of mother and child taken by Stephen Vosloo. Copyright © by Tyndale House Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved.
Cover photograph of building copyright © by Tanja Luther/Westend61/Corbis. All rights reserved.
Designed by Stephen Vosloo
Edited by Sarah Mason
Published in association with the literary agency of Natasha Kern Literary Agency, Inc., P.O. Box 1069, White Salmon, WA 98672.
Scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible, King James Version.
Saving Amelie is a work of fiction. Where real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales appear, they are used fictitiously. All other elements of the novel are drawn from the author’s imagination.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Gohlke, Cathy.
Saving Amelie / Cathy Gohlke.
pages cm
ISBN 978-1-4143-8322-4 (sc)
1.World War, 1939-1945—Underground movements—Germany—Fiction. 2.World War, 1939-1945—Children—Germany—Fiction. 3.Medical ethics—Germany—Fiction. 4.Family secrets—Fiction. I.Title.
PS3607.O3448S38 2014
813'.6—dc23 2013048548
ISBN 978-1-4143-9602-6 (ePub); ISBN 978-1-4143-8418-4 (Kindle); ISBN 978-1-4143-9603-3 (Apple)
Build: 2014-05-09 13:31:56
For Dan
Celebrating thirty-two years and all our adventures
I love you—forever.
“Therefore shall a man leave his father and his mother, and shall cleave unto his wife: and they shall be one flesh.”
GENESIS 2:24
Contents
Acknowledgments
Part I: August 1939 Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Part II: October 1939 Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Part III: July 1940 Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Epilogue
Note to Readers
Preview of The Auschwitz Escape
About the Author
Discussion Questions
Acknowledgments
IN THE RESEARCH AND WRITING of this book I am deeply grateful to . . .
The late Dietrich Bonhoeffer, dissident German pastor, prophet, spy, and martyr, who early recognized the corrupted ideology of the Nazis and the eugenics movement, who challenged the church to protect others, stand against evil, and live for Christ. Before his death at the hands of the Nazis, Bonhoeffer wrote The Cost of Discipleship—a book that set my heart on fire.
Natasha Kern, my agent and friend, wh
o believed in this book from its conception and championed its ideals.
Stephanie Broene and Sarah Mason, my wonderfully gifted editors, and Shaina Turner, acquisitions assistant, for patiently working through the complexities of this manuscript and helping me bring to the page the vision God placed in my heart; Julie Dumler, my innovative marketing manager; Christy Stroud, my enthusiastic and dedicated publicist; the wonderfully talented Stephen Vosloo for cover design; the excellent PR and sales teams; and all at Tyndale House Publishers who’ve worked so diligently to bring this book to life and to readers.
Terri Gillespie, dear friend and writing colleague, for capturing this book’s vision, for helping with research and sharing your passion for the unity of God’s people in Christ, Jew and Gentile. Thank you especially for your encouragement and prayers when Nazi research became too dark, and for your critique and repeated readings of this manuscript.
Carrie Turansky, dear friend and writing colleague, for your faithful encouragement and prayers, your unflagging support, and for your early critique of this manuscript.
Dan Gohlke, my husband, for generously donning your chauffeur cap and sharing research adventures through England, France, Germany, and Poland, and for your early critique of this manuscript. I could not ask for a better husband or traveling companion.
Elisabeth Gardiner, my daughter, for trekking with me through Berlin in search of the Nazi book-burning site, for climbing through overgrown cemeteries in Poland, for your insights and brainstorming of this story, and for your reading and early critique of this manuscript. I’ve loved sharing this literary journey with you.
Daniel Gohlke, my son, for combing through museums and research sites in Berlin, Oranienburg, and concentration camps in Germany and France—all difficult research that tried our souls but inspired story and voice, amid so many discussions. I cherish your companionship in this writing journey.
Karen and Paul Gardiner, dear family and friends, and parents of my son-in-law, Tim, for inviting us to join you in your tour of Germany and to see the Passion Play in Oberammergau. That trip cemented our friendship at the time our children wed. Now we are celebrating the birth of our precious granddaughter from that blessed union!
Bob Welch, retired music director at Immanuel Bible Church in Springfield, Virginia, who envisioned taking your choir to Oberammergau to view the Passion Play. When your magnificent choir sang “Silent Night” in the tiny Oberndorf Stille Nacht Kapelle, I wept for the beauty of that moment. Little did you know that you fulfilled a treasured dream from childhood.
Brigitta Salyers, for enthusiastically guiding the Immanuel Bible Church tour through southern Germany and Austria, including Oberammergau’s Passion Play. You are an amazing woman, a brilliant and patient tour guide, and a dear sister in Christ.
My families of origin and marriage, my church family at Elkton United Methodist, and readers who regularly pray for and encourage me in this writing journey. This is not territory I could traverse alone, and I am so very grateful to you.
Museums and historical sites and their staff in England, France, Germany, and Poland; tour guides in London, Dover, Natzweiler, Berlin, Sachsenhausen, Ravensbrück, Bavaria, and Eagle’s Nest; Oberammergau’s Passion Play; the many writers of histories, journals, diaries, and interviews from WWII, Berlin, and Oberammergau during the Nazi era; and the Bavarian State Library in Munich.
Four very readable books that helped tremendously are William L. Shirer’s Berlin Diary: The Journal of a Foreign Correspondent, 1934–1941; Helena Waddy’s Oberammergau in the Nazi Era: The Fate of a Catholic Village in Hitler’s Germany; Eric Metaxas’s Bonhoeffer: Pastor, Martyr, Prophet, Spy; and Michael Van Dyke’s Radical Integrity: The Story of Dietrich Bonhoeffer.
Most especially, those who survived or helped others survive the Holocaust and continue to tell your stories in the hope of “never again.” There is no way to adequately thank you. But I will never forget. I promise.
And thank you, always, Uncle Wilbur, for reminding me that a sure way to know if I’m working in the will of God is to ask, “Do I have joy? Is this yoke easy? Is this burden light?”
Writing this book taught me that such joy is a matter of spirit and discipleship, especially when the research makes me weep.
1
RACHEL KRAMER dropped her linen napkin across the morning newspaper’s inflammatory headline: “Cold Spring Harbor Scientist in League with Hitler.” She glanced up, willing herself to smile innocently as her father strode into the formal breakfast room.
“You needn’t bother to hide it.” His eyes, bloodshot and mildly accusing, met hers as he took his chair at the head of the polished mahogany table. “I’ve already received a phone call from the Institute.”
Rachel glanced at their butler’s stoic face as he poured her father’s coffee, then carefully framed her statement. “It isn’t true, of course.”
“In league with the Führer? You believe the ravings of that maniac hack Young?” he scoffed. “Come now, Rachel—” he jerked his napkin from its ring—“you know me better than that.”
“Of course, Father. But I need to understand—”
“Which is why this trip is essential. You’ll see for yourself that those foreign correspondents exaggerate—to sell American papers, no doubt, but at the expense of international relations and good men doing crucial work.”
She might be little more than an inexperienced college graduate, but she wouldn’t be shot down. “He also claims that Hitler accuses the Poles of disturbing the peace of Europe—that he’s blaming them for impending war, creating a ruse to justify an invasion. If that’s true—if he’d truly attack Poland—then you really can’t trust him, Father. And if this reporter is right about that, then people will believe—”
“People will believe what they wish to believe—what is expedient and profitable for them to believe.” He pushed from the table, toast points in hand. “You mustn’t pay attention to the rags. It’s all propaganda. I’m sure Herr Hitler knows what he’s doing. The car will be here any moment. Are you packed?”
“Father, no sane person is going to Germany now. Americans have evacuated.”
“I assure you that I am completely sane.” He stopped and, uncharacteristically, stroked her cheek. “And you are destined for greatness.” He tugged his starched cuffs into place. “Remember, Rachel, it is ‘Herr Hitler.’ The Germans do not take kindly to disrespect.”
“Yes, Father, but you and I—we must have an understanding—”
But he’d already crossed the room, motioning for his coat. “Jeffries, watch for the driver. We mustn’t miss our plane. Where are your bags, Rachel?”
She folded her napkin deliberately, willing her temper into submission—for this trip only . . . until I make you understand that this is my last trip to Frankfurt—to Germany—and that our relationship must drastically change . . . just as soon as we return to New York. “My bags are waiting by the door.”
Two days later, Rachel tugged summer-white gloves over her wrists, as if that might erect a strategic barrier between her person and the German city once familiar to her. It had been five years since she’d ridden down the wide, pristine avenues of Frankfurt. The medieval spires and colorful geometric brickwork looked just the same. But every towering, spreading linden tree that had graced the main thoroughfare—each a landmark in its own right—had been ripped from its roots, replaced by steel poles slung with twenty-foot scarlet banners sporting black swastikas on white circles. Ebony spiders soaked in shame.
“There is no need to fret. It won’t be long now. The examination will soon be over. You missed the last one, so you mustn’t object if this one takes a bit longer.” Her father, his hair thinning by the minute, smiled absently, moistened and flattened his lips. “Our train leaves at seven,” he muttered, staring out the window. “We will not be detained.”
She forced her fingers to lie still in her lap. His affected reassurance gave little comfort. Why she’d agreed to the hated b
iennial physical examination by doctors she detested or to coming to Germany at all, she couldn’t fathom.
Well, yes . . . she could. Rachel sighed audibly and glanced at the too-thin, self-absorbed man beside her. It was because he’d insisted, because they’d argued as never before, because he’d begged, then badgered, and finally ordered. Because, being adopted, she’d known no other father, and because her mother had loved him—at least the way he used to be, the way he was when she was alive. And, significantly, because Rachel’s new employer had agreed to delay her date of hire until September 20.
She leaned back into the comfort of the cool leather seat, forcing herself to breathe. She supposed she could afford him this parting gift of time, this assertion of her belief in him, though she’d come to question—if not doubt—his life’s work.
That work had taken a twisted turn from his quest to eradicate tuberculosis, her mother’s killer. The publicity against his beloved eugenics research was growing, getting ugly, thanks to the outcries of investigative-journalist crusader types at home and abroad. She would be glad to distance herself when the ordeal was done.
Perhaps this peace offering would soften her announcement that she’d been hired by the Campbell Playhouse—as a gofer and underling to start. But if she proved herself indispensable, they might include her in their November move to Los Angeles—one step closer to radio theatre performance. All of which would send her father into a tizzy. He disdained radio theatre more than he’d detested her modern theatre productions in college, blaming the influence of her professors and “theatrical peers” for her independent thinking. She’d tell him the moment they returned to New York. As far as Rachel was concerned, that could not be soon enough.
But there were the medical examination in Frankfurt and the gala in Berlin to endure first—the gala to honor her father and German scientists for their breakthrough work in eugenics. The gala, which would include Gerhardt and her childhood friend Kristine. She brushed the air as if a fly had landed on her cheek. What had Kristine meant in her letter about “Gerhardt, and things impossible to write,” that she was “terrified” for her daughter, Amelie? It was the first letter Rachel had received from her former friend in five years.
