The Power of Prayer
Upon reaching the Biar cottage, they stowed inside. No locks on the doors.
Herr Biar and his Frau sat at the table by the light of a candle.
‘You’re back,’ Herr Biar said.
‘Sorry,’ Joseph spoke in his fluent German. ‘We were trying to return to our world…’
‘To get help,’ Amie said in her textbook German.
‘And did you?’
Amie shook her head.
‘We’ve been praying for you,’ Herr Biar said.
‘The evil one is active.’
‘Boris?’ Amie asked.
They nodded, a sombre expression on their faces.
‘Oh, I wouldn’t concern yourselves, with that stinky old cockroach,’ Amie said.
Their eyes widened.
Herr Biar’s voice rose an octave. ‘You met him?’
‘Yes, he’s ‘armless,’ Amie said in English giggling at her own joke—more nerves than anything. Then she explained. ‘I mean, he had four arms, two legs, and wings. But we got away from him, didn’t we, Joseph?’
‘Yes, he was too full of himself, that guy—we ran away while he admired his own what’sit.’
Herr Biar slapped the table. ‘You got away?’
Frau Biar gazed at her husband. ‘I told you, mein Herr, prayer works.’ She then bunched up her apron and stood up. ‘Right you two, you’ve had a long day—time now to schlaf—schlaf vol!’ She ushered Amie and Joseph up the stairs. ‘You, Amie sleep with Wilma tonight, and Joseph, you may sleep in Friedrich’s room. I’ll bring you hot chocolate and cookies shortly.’
© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2017
Photo: Stain-glass Window Notre Dame Cathedral © Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2014
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