Tomorrow Will Be Kinder.

Chapter One: The Apple Tree.

                                                             Summer of 1939

"Lisbeth Annaliese Bonevie! You better haul your little tush back here before I-"

I don't hear the rest because I'm hoisting up my floral patterned cotton dress and sprinting barefoot through our backyard. My mess of black curls fall into my face, so I take the metal snood out, shaking my hair free from the small clip.

"You better be home before dark!" Papa shouts out the backdoor, giving up. I can just see him throwing his hands in the air, aggravated.

"Love you!" I shout back, smiling as I start to pick up speed on my way down the hill.

I had promised Jasper I'd meet him at our usual spot by the docks, fifteen minutes ago, but I overslept; a bad habit of mine. So, I threw on the nearest article of clothing I could find and took off running, without any breakfast.

Almost instantly, I regret not slipping on a pair of shoes first before leaving the house. As I travel down the worn-down trail through the woods, my feet ache in protest as I step on prickly plants and painful sticks.

Luckily, it's not long until I reach the old abandoned docks. It's more or less a swamp with an old, rickety dock, but it's good enough for Jasper and I.

"Oh la la, you're late, what a surprise," Jasper hops down from our usual spot up in the large apple tree.

His messy blonde hair is in it's usual wild manner on top of his head, and he has that smug smile on his lips; one that I could just smack him for.

"Firstly, just because you visited France once, doesn't make you french," I roll my eyes, "And secondly, this is the first time this month I've been late, so zip it." I announce, proudly.

"Nice try, but you were late last Sunday," He flicks a bug off my shoulder and shakes his head, that stupid smirk not faltering.

I open my mouth to make a smart comment, but I realize he's got me cornered. I could just be a big girl and apologize for being late...

I dismiss that idea quickly when I imagined how much hell he'd give me for that. I don't apologize; it's not something I do.

"So, where do your parents think you're off to now?" I ask, a playful grin on my face.

But like always, whenever I bring this up, Jasper's smile fades. He gets that crinkle in his forehead. That lets me know whenever he's either: A) In pain, or B) extremely frustrated.

When Jasper and I get into fights, it's usually about this: Our problem, or should I say my problem.

I, along with my entire family, am a Jew; entirely from my curly black hair, and chocolate eyes to my slightly over-sized nose.

 That wouldn't matter; it didn't matter before. But now, under the fearful rein of Hitler, we live each day in fear that he's going to send us away. We've heard stories of Jews all over the country being sent away and never returning; being murdered like cattle.

So the problem with Jasper is that he is a regular German, catholic boy. His hair is a perfect, Aryan shade of blonde, and his eyes are the gentlest shade of blue. He even has delicately sprinkled freckles across his cheeks and nose. He's basically perf-

My thoughts are interupted when Jasper finally start to speak up,

"Libby, I don't know why you find this all so humorous, because-" He starts to lecture me, but I just cut him off.