Of Windmills and War (5 page)

She looked at him over her glasses. “Danny, I wish I was as
optimistic as you. You always look for the best in situations. I wish I had
more faith so I didn’t worry so much.”

“But you’re a mom. Moms are supposed to worry,” Danny teased,
grabbing his letter and heading down the hall. “C’mon, Sophie. Let’s go find
out what’s happening in
Holland
.”

The beagle followed him up the stairs and into his room,
jumping up on the bed before he even sat down. She never left his side when he
was home, never happier than when she was curled up beside him on the bed.

He used the letter opener his mom had given him for
Christmas to slit open the envelope. He sat on his bed beside Sophie and
unfolded the pages.

Dear Danny,

How was your Thanksgiving? From what you described, it
sounds like such a special holiday for you and all Americans. Although I cannot
imagine what this “stuffing” you mentioned must taste like. But I do think I
would like your pumpkin pie.

I know well these cranberries! They are quite popular here
in The
Netherlands
. We learned about them last
year at school. A long, long time ago, an American shipwreck came ashore in the
northern
Netherlands
province on the
island
of
Terschelling
—including
a barrel of cranberries. The man who found them was disappointed to find the
sour berries, hoping the barrel was full of wine. He dumped the barrel in the
dunes. My teacher said the sandy bog was the perfect ground for the berries to
grow and we’ve had them ever since. When I read of your Thanksgiving tradition
of cranberries, I thought of that shipwrecked crate as a gift from your
America
to my homeland
and I laughed. Should I say thank you? Bedankt!

We just celebrated Sinterklaas on December 5, and had a
wonderful time. As is custom, we give each other presents that we make
ourselves—sometimes silly, sometimes thoughtful and nice. You have to wrap each
present and write a poem to go with it, then the person who opens the gift must
read the poem aloud. It’s very funny, going around the room hearing all these
poems, most of them very clever. I gave my sister Anya a small wooden pig which
I had carved myself. Whenever I ask my little Anya to do a favor for me, she always
says, “When pigs fly!” So I carved little wings on this pig and made up a funny
poem about Anya flying away on her little pig. She laughed and laughed, then suddenly
she started to cry. When I asked her why, she gave me a hug and said, “Because
you did something nice for me, and I am always such a nuisance to you.” I have
no understanding of why that made her cry. Perhaps I shall never understand
girls.

We’re about to go skating, so I must close. Most of the kids
our age in the village are going. We plan to make a day of it, skating on the
canals past all the windmills. It is very common to do this, and all along the
way families set up tents to feed the skaters. Everyone joins in and has a
wonderful time. Some day you must visit me and we shall skate by all those
windmills you like so much!

Prettige Kerstdagen en een Gelukkig Nieuwjaar,
Danny!
That means “Merry Christmas and
a Happy New Year.” I thank God for the American friend He gave me in you, and I
hope He will make us life-long good friends.

Hans

4

February 1939

“I love snow as much as the next guy, but this is
ridiculous.”

The blustering snows off
Lake Michigan
kept
Danny busy each day after school and most of Saturday if he wasn’t working for
Mr. Chaney. He’d get home, have a quick snack and play with Sophie for a couple
of minutes before bundling back up and heading out to shovel snow for his
neighbors. Lots of his friends made money this way too. They all had their own territories.
Danny did his best to keep the sidewalks and driveways of the two block area
surrounding his home near the corner of
Yale Avenue
and
80th
Street
.
Ordinarily that was an easy task, but 1939 had brought
layer upon layer of the white stuff, often negating his efforts from the
previous day.

As he stepped out on his front porch, he looked up, noticing
the sky was clouding up again.
Better get to it.
He yanked his knit cap
down low to cover his ears then pulled on his heavy work gloves and grabbed his
shovel. He always stopped first at Mrs. Martello’s house across the street and
two doors down. Recently widowed, the portly old lady insisted on a clear
pathway to her sister’s house next door. Danny knew if he didn’t keep it clear,
she’d try to make the short walk and probably end up falling.

“Oh, there you are! I was wondering if I’d see you today. I
need to take a loaf of bread over to Angelica’s, but as you can see my walkway
is covered again.”

“No problem, Mrs. Martello. You know I always come here
first. I’ll have it cleared for you in just a jiffy.”

“Thank you, Danny,” she called, already heading back into
her house.

Danny got right to work, all too aware the snow had begun to
fall again. Twenty minutes later, he stomped his snow-covered boots up the
steps of her house and knocked on the door. When she opened it, she was putting
on her heavy coat.

“Mrs. Martello, it’s snowing again. I cleared the sidewalk,
but it already has another fine layer. Why don’t you let me take that bread
over to your sister?”

“Nonsense and horse feathers. I go every day. Why would I
let a little snow stop me? I’ll  be fine. See you tomorrow, Danny.”

He looked down the street at the six houses he’d hoped to
shovel, but knew he couldn’t let her make the walk alone. “Well, if that’s the
case, then I insist you let me come along. Wouldn’t want Miss Angelica to go
without that loaf of bread.” He offered his elbow to her.

“Why, aren’t you the nicest young man! I’d be most grateful.
Now, just give me a minute while I put on my gloves.”

He felt sure the minute was more like five, but he tried to
wait patiently. When she was finally covered from head to toe, he helped her
down the porch steps and across the brick walkway. Once there, she had a chatty
visit with her sister.
It’s not like you all don’t talk on the phone several
times a day,
he thought. Why the two women didn’t just move in together, he
had no idea.

Fifteen minutes later, he returned her safely to her home,
in spite of a couple of close calls coming up the steps. She tipped him an
extra dollar for the favor and sent him on his way.

The snow twirled about in heavy, silent rhythms. He was used
to shoveling in all kinds of weather, so he stuck it out. By
five o’clock
, he’d
finished the McPherson’s, the Lendowski’s, and the
Langley
’s
houses, and decided to stop. The streetlights helped, but shoveling in the dark
could be dangerous. He’d have to do the other two tomorrow. Hopefully the snow
would let up by then.

His mother opened the door as he stepped onto the porch. “I
was about to come looking for you. It’s late, Danny. Come inside and get warm.
I don’t want you catching your death of cold out there.”

“Be right in. Something sure smells good. What’s for
dinner?”

“Fried chicken.” She suddenly covered her mouth with her
hand. “Oh, for goodness sake. I forgot to tell you earlier. You have a letter
from Hans.”

“Yeah? It’s about time. I was starting to worry.”

“I know, that’s why I’m so sorry I didn’t mention it
earlier. It’s up on your pillow.”

“No problem, Mom. I was in a hurry this afternoon and never
thought to go up and check.”

“Do you want me to get it for you?”

“No, I’d rather read it after dinner and a bath. That’ll
give me something to look forward to.” He set the shovel in the corner of the
covered porch and sat on one of the rockers to take off his boots. He hadn’t
heard from Hans in over two months. From the beginning they’d always written at
least once a week, though their letters often took three weeks to be delivered—two
if they were lucky. Danny assumed the recent long delay was probably a Dutch
postal problem and tried not to worry.

Sophie broke his train of thought, standing inside the
window behind him, barking in delight, her breath frosting the glass. “Hey
girl, I’ll be right in. Did ya’ miss me?” He could swear she smiled at him.
“Well, just for the record, I missed you too, Sophie.”

After dinner, Danny dragged himself up the stairs. He pulled
his sweater over his head and tossed it on his bed. He was tempted to read
Hans’ letter but decided he’d rather take a nice hot bath first. Once he was
clean and finally warm again, he picked up the letter and noticed something
different.
That’s strange. It’s from his address but the handwriting is
definitely not his.
He sat down on his bed and carefully opened the letter.

Dear Danny,

I have tried to write you many times, but I simply could not
find the words. I am so very heartbroken, but I must tell you of the recent
death of my brother Hans. It happened back in December on a day of skating. We
had such a wonderful day, all of us, skating the canal. Late in the afternoon,
as we skated our way home, there was a terrible scream from behind us. Hans
immediately skated back and found our young friend Rieky had fallen and hit her
head on the ice. Hans tried to calm her down as we all turned back to see what
had happened. Just as we approached them we heard a loud crack in the ice. We
know whenever that happens we must get off the ice as fast as possible. We all skated
away as fast as we could, but Hans stayed with Rieky who was crying
hysterically and clinging to him. Suddenly, with a sound I shall never forget,
the crack split wide open. We could not see Hans or Rieky! I started to skate
back to them, but the others held me back. Some of the older boys tried to
reach them, but the ice kept cracking and they had to turn back. We could hear Hans
and Rieky crying out for help in that freezing water, but we could not reach
them. I yelled and yelled, screaming at Hans not to give up. But soon their
cries were silent and we knew the water below had pushed them beyond the gaping
split in the ice.

Even now, these many weeks later, I cannot forget the sound
of their desperate cries going silent. I cannot erase from my mind the image of
my brother and little Rieky dying in that icy water. I will never forgive
myself for not breaking through the arms of those who held me back. I could
have saved them! I know I could have saved them!

Our home is filled with sorrow. My mother’s broken heart has
kept her bedridden. Father tries so hard to be strong, but in the quiet of the
night I hear him crying. I do not know how we will go on.

I know how much your friendship meant to Hans. He talked
about you constantly, telling us all about his American friend Danny in
Chicago
,
America
. He
has a cigar box where he kept all your letters. When they continued to come
after he died, I knew I must find the courage one day to write you.

More than anything, I live each day with the regret that I
never told Hans how much he meant to me. It seemed my quest in life to annoy
him as much as I could, but deep down I adored him and loved him more than
words can say. Now he shall never know.

I know Hans hoped to someday meet you, and now that shall
never happen. I’m so sorry you must now mourn the loss of your friend, as we have
mourned these many weeks.

Anya

Danny’s hands trembled as he stared at the page. A drop
splashed on the words, causing the ink to run. He hadn’t even realized he was
crying. He brushed away the tear, not wanting the words to smear, but at the
same time wishing he could blot out the horrible message they told.

He heard himself moan as he set the letter aside. He dropped
his head in his hands and gave in to the ache in his chest. “Tell me it’s not
true. Please tell me Hans didn’t die . . .” He squeezed his
eyes, wiping away his tears when a thought hit him.
Maybe it’s just a joke.
Hans always talked about how mischievous his little sister was. Could this be
some sick retaliation for another of their fights?
But almost as soon as
the notion drifted through his mind, it disappeared.
No one is that cruel.
Not even a bratty kid sister.

He knew the despair in Anya’s letter was genuine. He could
feel it in his gut. Hans had drowned in the frigid waters beneath the ice he’d
always loved to skate on. The friend he’d hoped to one day meet was now gone
forever.

Sophie began to whimper quietly, her mournful eyes locked on
Danny’s. He drew in a ragged breath and pulled her into his arms. “I don’t
understand. How could something so bad happen to someone so good?” Still
whimpering, she nuzzled up to his face and began licking the tears from his
cheek.

They sat like that for several minutes as Danny tried to
make sense of it all. He tried to picture Anya and her
parents . . . how they must have suffered with a grief so much
worse than what rocked him now half a world away.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d sat there when another thought
came to him. He knew what he had to do. He set Sophie aside and got up, making
his way over to his desk. He opened the drawer and reached inside to lift out
the old cigar box. He slowly opened the lid and placed his hand on the stack of
letters. His eyes tracked to the mirror above his desk where he’d tucked the
picture of Hans and his family in the frame. The pain in his chest ached again,
but he pushed through it, reaching into another drawer for a clean sheet of
paper. With his pen poised above the first line, he froze. How could he
possibly express what he was feeling in his heart?

Dear Anya,

I have just received your letter and cannot begin to tell
you how sorry I am to read of Hans’ death. Even seeing the words on the paper,
I find it impossible to believe he’s gone. We never had the chance to meet face
to face, but I can honestly say, over the past year and a half we’ve been
writing, he’s become my best friend. I don’t even know what to do with
that—losing someone so special to me. Even still, it’s nothing compared to the
grief you and your parents have shared these past weeks.

But I want you to know how often he wrote of you and how
fond he was of his “little Anya.” He loved giving you a hard time, but deep
down he was crazy about you. Don’t ever think differently.

I can’t even find the words to say how sorry I am for you
and your parents. I promise to keep all of you in my prayers. Maybe someday God
will help us make sense of this.

Danny