Of Windmills and War Read online

  Danny patted her arm, trying to think what to say. He was shocked, but mostly he was happy for Joey. He was free! He’d always wanted to see the world and now he would. Danny tried to picture him standing at attention in a crisp white uniform . . . even now, he couldn’t help feeling proud of him.

  “He didn’t even say goodbye,” Mom whimpered.

  Danny stood beside her and wrapped his arm around her trembling shoulders. “Because he couldn’t, Mom. With Dad so angry, he didn’t dare tell you. He’ll be okay,” he said over her soft cries. “Joey’ll be okay, Mom.”

  They heard the front door slam and his father’s heavy footsteps coming up the stairs. His mother gave him a quick hug and slipped out the door, closing it behind her. For the next hour he heard nothing. Not a sound. His mind ran wild, wondering what it would be like not having Joey around. That makes me the only kid in the house now. That’ll be weird. Will Dad take out his frustration about Joey on me?

  When sleep eluded him, he got up and turned on his desk light. As quietly as he could, he opened the bottom drawer and pulled out the cigar box. Lifting the stack of letters from the box, Danny looked at the postmarks from The Netherlands and wondered what Hans would do if something like this happened in his family.

  At the beginning of school last year, his geography teacher made an assignment. Each student had to pick a country and learn as much as they could about it—and they had to choose a pen pal from that country. Mr. Chesterton had a master list of names and addresses from kids all over the world. Danny groaned when he first heard the assignment. He wasn’t much of a writer, and he sure didn’t want to write letters to some kid he didn’t know half-way around the world. But as others started picking names and countries, he knew he had no choice. Browsing through the list, he saw the name Hans Versteeg from The Netherlands. He’d always been fascinated by those National Geographic pictures of Holland’s windmills, so why not pick a Dutch kid?

  It took him three days to write his first letter. It was only a page long but Danny hadn’t been able to think of anything interesting to write. After several rewrites, he’d finally finished his “Letter of Introduction” as Mr. Chesterton called it.

  Dear Hans,

  You don’t know me but I got your name from a list my teacher gave us. He’s making us have pen pals, so I was wondering if you’d write me now and then. It’s for a grade so maybe just a couple of letters or so.

  My name is Danny McClain and I live in Chicago, Illinois in the United States. Chicago’s a real big city. It’s always windy here because we’re right by Lake Michigan which is more like the ocean than a lake. It’s huge. We have a football team called the Bears and a couple of baseball teams—the Cubs and the White Sox. I’m a big Cubs fan, and sometimes I go to Wrigley Field with my brother to watch them play. That’s my favorite thing to do.

  I live on the south side of Chicago with my mom and dad and my big brother Joey. My dad has his own business delivering movie reels to theaters. Have you ever seen a movie? My mom is real nice and she cooks really good food. She also sings in the church choir. My brother Joey is two years older than me. He’s real funny. Everybody loves him.

  I don’t know much about The Netherlands. How come it’s also called Holland? And what’s with all those windmills? Do you have one? What language do you speak? I sure hope you can read this or my grade is in the toilet.

  I hope you write me back. In English.

  Danny McClain

  Danny smiled, thinking back on that first letter he’d written. He never expected to hear back from the Dutch kid named Hans. Then one day, about three or four weeks later, he got a letter from The Netherlands addressed to him, with a strange stamp and all. It had surprised him how excited he was to get that first letter. And to his great relief, it was written in English.

  Dear Danny,

  Thank you very much for your letter. I would be happy to be your pen pal. Our teacher also submitted our names to an international pen pal club, and I was very afraid I’d get stuck writing a girl.

  I looked up America on a map in our classroom. The United States is very big compared to my country. I found Chicago on that map and the big lake you mentioned. Do you ice skate on your lake? In Holland, everyone skates in the winter. It’s my favorite thing to do. I do not know much about baseball and football. Maybe you can tell me about them.

  I live in a small town named Utrecht (not far from The Hague) with my mother, father, and sister, Anya. My father is a pastor so we live in the parsonage beside the church. He grew up in England, so we speak both Dutch and English in our home, and we’re learning German at school.

  You asked why we call our country by two names. There are twelve provinces in our country. North Holland and South Holland are two of them, located on the west coast where most of our ports are found. Our larger cities are found there as well—Amsterdam, The Hague, and Rotterdam. That area is called Holland while the rest of the country is called The Netherlands. (“Nether” means below which makes sense because more than 2/3 of our country is below sea level.) What’s strange is that most Dutch people keep the distinction, calling their country The Netherlands. It’s the outsiders and foreigners who lump us all together and call it Holland.

  Now I must ask you. Why do some people call your country America and others call it the United States?

  Holland is not like the other countries in Europe, so we do not take part in their wars. It’s a good thing, because there are many struggles in countries near us.

  I hope you will write again.

  Hans

  Danny leafed through the many envelopes he kept stored in the old cigar box. To think he’d dreaded writing that first letter. Now, less than a year later, Hans had practically become his best friend. Page after page, he’d write his new friend, sharing everything from the silliest thoughts to his deepest concerns. He always looked forward to hearing back from Hans. During the months at school, he always checked to see if a letter had come when he got home. Mom always placed the familiar envelopes on his pillow. Sometimes he’d get two letters a week, but most of the time just one.

  And now, here he was—after midnight, unable to sleep, sharing this latest family turmoil with his Dutch friend. He took out a sheet of notebook paper and started writing.

  Dear Hans,

  I wish you lived just down the street. Even though it’s really late, I’d sneak out and come knock on your window to tell you what happened. Today, Joey graduated. I’d never been to a graduation ceremony before. It was boring at times, with so many students walking across the stage to receive their diplomas. And then at last, my brother made that walk. He was dressed like the others in a black cap and gown, but as he approached the principal to receive his diploma, he stuck his arms out and acted as if he was flying! The gown billowed around him and everyone laughed. Well, everyone except my dad. Then once he shook the principal’s hand and took his diploma, he turned to the audience and gave the grandest bow you’ve ever seen. Everyone loves Joey, so they all applauded and cheered. It was hilarious!

  Unfortunately, when we sat down for dinner this evening, Dad was really mad about the whole thing. Then, he didn’t ask—he told Joey that he expected him to start working for him tonight. Mom tried to convince Dad that Joey should get to celebrate with his friends, but Dad wouldn’t listen. Joey got mad and left the house which only made Dad madder.

  But that’s not the worst of it. After we all went to bed, Joey packed his bags and left. He wrote a note saying he’d already enlisted in the Navy, and he was leaving to report for duty. I couldn’t believe it! Dad’s yelling woke me up, then Mom came in and told me what had happened. He’s been quiet ever since. For some reason, that’s even worse—him being quiet like that. I’ve told you before that my dad can be a real pain. But being so quiet these last few hours? It really worries me.

  I can’t believe Joey’s gone. But at the same time, I’m real proud of him. I just hope he writes or calls me. I’m sure gonna miss him.
/>   Your friend,

  Danny

  2

  August 1938

  Danny wiped his brow with his bandana, wishing he was done for the day. He’d already mowed five lawns and had one more to go before he could head home. Just then, Mrs. Zankowski stepped out on the back porch and waved at him. She held up a mason jar filled with lemonade and ice. Danny stuffed the bandana in his pocket and walked across the fresh-cut grass.

  “Awful hot this afternoon, Danny. I thought you could use something ice cold to drink.”

  He took the glass from her. “Thanks, Mrs. Z. I sure appreciate it.” He took a sip, trying hard not to gulp it down in one swallow. “That’s real good lemonade. Thanks.”

  She sat down on her porch swing. “Any news from your brother?”

  “Yes, ma’am. We had a letter just yesterday. Joey’s doing fine. He finished boot camp. He was kinda disappointed—he was hoping to make it into aviation training, but he didn’t pass some of the tests. But you know Joey. He’ll make the best of it. Said they’re sending him to Norfolk, Virginia for some kind of training.”

  His neighbor smiled as she fanned herself with a magazine. “Well, Joey never did take his studies too seriously, but I’m sorry he didn’t get to be a pilot if that’s what he wanted. Then again, I can’t imagine that brother of yours up there flying an airplane. Good heavens, what a scary thought!”

  Danny laughed with her as he wiped the sweat off his neck. “I see your point.”

  “But good for him joining up to serve our country. You and your parents must be so proud of him. That brother of yours about drove me crazy with all his antics. Never could keep a straight face when he was in my classroom. But he kept things interesting, that’s for sure.” She shaded her eyes with the magazine and looked up in the sky. “Lord have mercy, Danny. What I’d give to see him toe the line for his superiors in the Navy. That would be a sight to behold, wouldn’t it?”

  “Yes, ma’am, it would.” He took another drink remembering how much Joey liked Mrs. Zankowski. She taught history at Calumet High School. Everyone loved her classes because she always made history interesting and fun. Danny hoped he’d be assigned to one of her classes before he graduated.

  She stood up. “Well, you be sure and tell him hello for me next time you write him, okay? I’m mighty proud of him for following his dream.” She reached into her apron pocket and handed him two neatly folded dollar bills. “Thank you, Danny. You always do a real nice job.”

  “Thanks. I’ll see you next week.” He snapped his fingers. “Oh, that reminds me—next week I’ll be mowing on Saturday instead of Friday. I’ve got tickets for the Cubs game on Friday.”

  “Good for you! Great season so far, isn’t it?”

  “We’re going all the way this year. I can feel it!”

  “I hope you’re right. Well, we’ll see you next Saturday then. Have a good week.”

  “You too, Mrs. Z.”

  Danny finished the backyard, swept the patio and front sidewalks, then headed out for his next lawn, dragging his mower behind him. School would be starting in a few weeks and his income would slow way down. He’d already talked to Mr. Chaney about helping out after school at his grocery store. He liked the old guy and looked forward to working for him.

  As he mowed the Smithson’s lawn, back and forth across their broad front yard, he couldn’t help thinking about his dad. Danny had avoided him as much as possible over the course of the summer. Ever since Joey left, Dad had grown more quiet with each passing day. He’d grumble and growl if something didn’t go his way, but mostly he was just quiet. Too quiet. It made Danny and his mother uneasy, though they both welcomed the silent meal times.

  After Joey’s first letter, they learned to keep quiet about the news they’d read. Danny had tried to share a funny story his brother had written—something about a prank someone in his unit had played on a bunkmate. Dad had slowly placed his knife and fork on his plate, then folded his hands. Looking back and forth between them, he said, “There will be no discussion about Joey at this table. Is that understood?”

  Danny had stared into his father’s tired, bloodshot eyes, then looked at Mom. Her head was bowed as she seemed to study her plate, not saying a word. She just sat there with a bite of meatloaf on her fork. Danny looked back to see Dad’s reaction.

  “I said, is that understood?”

  “Yes, sir,” Danny croaked. Mom nodded her head.

  From that moment on, they never mentioned Joey again at the dinner table. Instead, Danny and his mother found stolen moments to talk about Joey’s letters when his dad was out of the house. Sometimes it meant waiting until he left late at night on his film routes. Then they’d sit at the kitchen table and read the letter together, even though they’d both read it separately when it first arrived. He hated having to hide the fact he was interested in his brother’s news. But even more troubling was the silence that so often filled their home.

  Danny quickly finished his last lawn for the day, collected his pay from Mr. Smithson, and hurried home. He stopped first in the garage, grabbing the broom to sweep the remaining blades of grass off the old mower, then stepped out of his filthy shoes. He took the back steps two at a time and found his mother snapping beans on the back porch.

  “How was your afternoon? Get all your yards done?”

  He leaned over, planting a noisy kiss on her cheek. “Sure did. And for a change, they all paid me today.” He dug the bills out of his pocket and waved them at her. “I need to make another deposit.”

  “Good for you, son. Why, at the rate you’re going, you’ll own that bank one of these days.”

  “Not hardly. Hey, did I get any mail today?”

  Mom smiled. “Letter from Hans on your pillow.”

  “Anything from Joey?”

  “No,” she said, her voice dropping a notch, “but we can read yesterday’s letter again if you’d like. Your father’s leaving early tonight.” She winked at him and patted her pocket.

  “Sounds good. I’m gonna go wash up then read my letter from Hans.”

  “Dinner’s in about an hour.”

  Ten minutes later, Danny got dressed after his shower and tossed his dirty clothes in the hamper. He reached for Hans’ letter, then stretched out on his bed to read it.

  Dear Danny,

  It is hard for me to imagine such temperatures as you have in Chicago! Today it is 19.1° C. here. I believe that is 66.4° F. Much cooler than your 99°! Today I had to help my sister Anya fix her bicycle. Everyone rides bicycles in The Netherlands, as I told you before. And most everyone takes very good care of their bicycles because we have to depend on them. But my little Anya (she’s only a year younger than me but she’s really small for her age) is not so careful. And with all our rain lately, her bicycle has rusted once again. She’s terribly hard on things and always frustrated when things go wrong. I told you before what a tomboy she is, but have I mentioned she’s also bull-headed? Such fights the two of us have!

  Congratulations on the new job at the grocery store. I would think you would be very busy working and going to school in the fall. Here, most everything is brought to us so that we do not often need to go to the market. It’s considered an honor to supply the local pastor with bread, vegetables, milk, and even meat from the butcher. But this is also done for many other residents as well.

  What have you heard from Joey? Any news?

  Everyone here seems quite nervous. None of us believed Hitler could take Austria, yet he did. We thought that England and France would step up and try to stop him, but they have not. Our country always stays out of war, but the news we hear is still troubling. It’s quite hard to understand all that is happening.

  I have enclosed a picture of our family as you requested. This was taken by my cousin Piet. The windmill behind us is not far from our home. It is called Mollen De Ster (Star Windmill) and it is my favorite. This picture was taken when we had a family picnic with Piet and his family. That is Anya standing to my
left. Mother was upset with her for scraping her knee while chasing Piet through a tulip field.

  By the time you get this letter, perhaps your letter and picture will arrive here. I wonder if you look as I imagine you to look!

  Your friend,

  Hans

  Danny carefully unwrapped the tissue paper folded around the photograph. He too had been curious what his Dutch friend looked like. It was strange to be good friends with someone he’d never met. Immediately he spotted Hans standing next to his father. Danny smiled seeing his picture for the first time. Hans had a thick head of blond hair brushed straight back. His face was oval, his chin squared a bit. He assumed Hans’ eyes were blue, though he couldn’t be sure in the gray tones of the photograph. He had a friendly smile, just as he’d expected. Now he had a face to go with the name.

  Hans looked a good deal like his father, except for the round glasses perched on his father’s nose and the bushy mustache below it. He too had a friendly smile. Danny wondered what it was like to hear him preach. Was he soft spoken and kind, or one of those who shouted his sermons? Then he looked at Hans’ mother, her face quite beautiful despite the firm set of her lips. Danny recognized that expression, so similar to his own mother’s when she got upset. And then he glanced at Anya standing there with her arms folded across her chest and a pronounced scowl on her face. Sure enough, her pant leg was stained and dirty at the knee. Two messy pigtails hung down three or four inches below her shoulders. Danny chuckled, having no trouble imagining the girl’s mischief.

  He studied the windmill in the background, its four outstretched wings lending an air of majesty to the photograph. Hans had explained the important role of the windmolen helping pump water from Holland’s precious land to prevent flooding. The Dutch had a long history battling their below-sea level ground, and the windmills stood at the forefront of those battles, dating all the way back to the thirteenth century—a fact Danny had included in his latest report for Mr. Chesterton’s class.