#Laserdrw turn off border code#

She had heard the drone of the airplane flying too low and the sound that followed had been an explosion. It had not been her imagination-she was sure of that. The early-December air was crisp, the sky heavy with foreboding of the harsher weather that would soon come. Helena thought of the noises early the next morning as she made her way up the tree-covered hill that rose before their house. Together they all climbed back into the bed that had once belonged to their parents. When it did not come, Helena stood and helped Dorie up the ladder.

“No.” She waited for Ruth’s rebuke for having dragged them needlessly from bed. Helena could sense her sister’s lips curling in the darkness. “I guess it’s over,” Helena said, feeling foolish. Ten minutes passed, then twenty, without further noise. Twelve years old, he seemed to grow taller every day and their meager rations simply couldn’t keep up. Michal leaned his tangle of curls against her shoulder and she hugged him tightly, feeling his ribs protrude beneath his skin. The sisters trusted each other implicitly and Ruth deferred to her where their safety was concerned. Helena nodded, then realized Ruth could not see her. “Jeste´s pewna?” Are you certain there were bombs? If only it were that simple.īeside her, Ruth trembled. Dorie could not imagine something worse than a storm. “Nie, kochana.” The child’s body relaxed palpably in Helena’s arms. “Is it a storm?” Dorie asked, her voice hushed with apprehension. She recalled the horrors she’d heard of the Warsaw bombings and hoped that the cottage could withstand it. She cringed as the inevitable wetness of the muddy earth seeped through her nightclothes, then braced herself for the next explosion. Helena dropped to the ground and pulled Dorie onto her lap, smelling the sour milk on the child’s breath. Then Ruth passed five-year-old Dorie below before climbing down herself, the baby wrapped around her neck. Helena scrambled down the ladder first, followed by Michal. Helena followed, tugging a groggy Michal by the hand, and they raced toward the cellar as they had rehearsed dozens of times, not bothering to stop for the shoes lined up at the foot of the bed. “Bombs!” Immediately awake, Ruth leaped up and grabbed one of their younger sisters under each arm. Ruth, who was curled up in a warm ball with her arms wrapped around the three slumbering children between them, had always slept more soundly. She sat bolt upright, trying to see through the darkness. But before she could take a bite, a crash rattled the house and a dish in the kitchen fell and shattered. So when the noise grew louder, intruding on her dream and causing her hands to tremble, she clung tighter to the bread, drawing it hurriedly to her mouth. She had been dreaming of makowiec, the poppy seed rolls Mama used to make, thick and warm with a dusting of sugar.

#Laserdrw turn off border code#

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