Of Windmills and War (10 page)

12

Danny stared at the last page
of Anya’s letter. He noticed several smears throughout the page.
Tear
stains?
An overwhelming sense of loss consumed him. “She’s saying goodbye.”
Hearing the croak of his own voice didn’t surprise him. But the knowledge that
she was probably right shocked him to his core. He shuffled back to the first
page to read the letter again. Surely he’d missed something.

The
matinee showing came and went. Well into the evening showing, Danny lost count
how many times he’d read Anya’s letter. He stared at the wall of the projector
booth with unseeing eyes as he tried to imagine what was happening at that
moment half way around the world. He felt so helpless.

Eventually
he noticed the final reel of
The Oklahoma Kid
had run out. He reached
over to stop the
click-click-click
flapping of the reel. Looking down
into the auditorium, he found it completely empty. With a heavy sigh, he
gathered his things and climbed down the rungs, his mind rounding in circles
much like that reel on the projector.

 “There
you are.” Steve turned off the concession stand lights. “I’m done here so I’m
leaving. That okay with you?”

“Sure.
Is Dad in his office?”

“No, I haven’t
seen him. I thought maybe he was checking inventory or something. You know your
dad.”

“Huh?
Oh, yeah.”

“You
okay, Danny?”

“Huh?”

“I
said, are you okay?”

“Yeah.
See you tomorrow, Steve.”

“Goodnight.”

Danny’s
mind traveled thousands of miles away to a Dutch parsonage. As hard as he
tried, he couldn’t picture Anya’s face as it must now look. All he had was the
old family picture of the Versteegs in front of a windmill. Back then she ran
through tulip fields and sucker-punched snotty Girl Scouts. He couldn’t imagine
how she must have matured or how the worry might be etched on her face now.

He
noticed the overflowing trash can by the auditorium door. “Nice, Steve,” he
muttered to himself. “How many times do we have to tell you?” He picked up the
large container and made his way out the side door to the alley. He tossed the
trash into the bin, but noticed a huge wad of bubblegum still stuck on the
bottom of the can with candy wrappers and popcorn stuck in its gooey clutches.
“Great. Just great.”

He
froze.

What
was that?
A shot of adrenaline skittered down his spine. He didn’t
move a muscle. He heard it again—a low moan, barely audible. It seemed to come
from further down the darkened alley. As he debated what to do, he heard it
again.

“Who’s
there?”

He
couldn’t be sure but he thought he heard his name.
Oh
no . . .

Danny rounded
the trash bin and tried to make his eyes adjust to the pitch black alleyway. He
spotted the slightest movement and rushed to the form lying on the ground.

“Danny . . .”

“Dad!
What happened? I can’t see—are you hurt?”

“Those
guys . . .”

Danny tried
to lift his father’s head off the ground. He cried out in pain.

“Dad,
let me go call an ambulance. I’ll be right—”

His
father lifted his hand, reaching for him. Danny took hold of his hand—and the
sticky substance covering it. “Dad, you’re covered in blood! Where are you
hurt?”

His
father moaned. “My legs . . . they smashed . . .
my legs . . .  baseball bat . . .”

Danny looked
down at his father’s legs, for the first time noticing the dark stains all over
his pant legs and the pool of blood beneath them. He clenched his fists as his
gaze fell on the impossible angles of his father’s splayed legs.

“Those
thugs . . .”

Their
faces, the garlic on their breath, the rain-pelted Fedora, the cigar smoke, the
sneer of their smiles—all exploded in Danny’s mind in a split second. “Dad,
I’ll be right back. I’ll call for an ambulance and be right back. Hold on,
okay?”

“Hurry . . .”
It was more of a breath than a plea.

Danny
knew seconds counted. He rushed inside, made the call, grabbed a jacket from
the back of the office door, and hurried back to his father’s side.

“I’m
here, Dad. I’m gonna lift your head, okay?” He balled up the jacket and slid it
carefully beneath his father’s head. “There you go. Just take it easy. One
breath at a time. Help is on the way, so hold on.”

His
father groaned. “Tell your mother . . .”

As his
eyes readjusted once again to the partial moonlight, Danny could see a tear
slip from his father’s eye.

“No,
you
tell her. You’re gonna make it. So don’t you give up on me, you hear?”

His dad
squeezed his eyes shut. “Joey . . . tell Joey . . .
I’m . . . I’m so sorry.”

“Dad,
please hold on. You’ve gotta hold on!”

The
siren grew louder as Danny stroked his father’s face. “I love you, Dad. Hold
on. Just hold on.”

“We got
‘em!”

“Excuse
me?” Mom asked the police officer. Danny’s father lay unconscious in the
hospital bed, his two legs in casts suspended in a maze of traction.

“We got
‘em,” Officer Cameron Fuller said.  “All three of ‘em. Locked up so tight
they’ll never see sunlight again.”

“How?” Danny
asked in disbelief. “It’s only been two days.”

“We’ve
been watching these guys for a long time. Arrested ‘em dozens of time but
nothing ever stuck. Til now. This time we applied a little pressure, if you
will. Little Rocco Feeney sang like a bird. We’ve got ‘em on so many charges,
they’ll be old and senile before they ever walk free again.”

“Are you
sure?” Danny asked. “I mean, how do you know there aren’t others who’ll just
move in and fill their shoes? Make the same threats?”

“We
made a sweet deal with Rocco. He’ll be out in ten, but he’s not the problem.
Rocco’s just a stooge. A follower. Doesn’t have enough sense to connect the
dots, let alone pull off anything on his own. Mulrooney was the brains of this
operation. Called all the shots. Tried to scare folks like your dad here real
bad, making ‘em think they’d be robbed or roughed up or even killed without his
protection, when the only ones robbing and roughing up were his own flunkies.
It’s not very original, but Mickey Mulrooney was good at it. Real good.”

His
mother wiped her eyes. “Do you mean we don’t have to worry about another
attack? Is Danny safe working at the theater?”

“He’ll
be fine, Mrs. McClain. And we’ve been ordered to move more officers to cover
that part of town. Kid, you’ll be sick of seeing our boys, but you’ll be safe.
You have my word on that.”

They
chatted a few moments more before Officer Fuller left. Danny stood across the
bed from his mother looking down at his father. “Sure wish he could’ve heard
the good news.”

His
mother pushed a strand of her husband’s graying hair off his forehead. “Oh,
he’ll be plenty happy to hear it once he comes out from under all the medication.
Doctor Mercer seemed to think he’d start coming around sometime in the next day
or two.”

Danny dropped
back into a chair. “I guess this means I need to re-open the theater.”

His
mother’s eyes fell on him. “That’s entirely up to you.”

“I
know, but you and I both know that’s what he’d want. Besides, he’s gonna be
here in the hospital for a long time. How else are we gonna pay the bills if we
have no income?”

She
made her way around bed and sat in the chair next to his. “I don’t want you
worrying about the money. God will take care of us. He always has and He always
will. Maybe we could find someone to run the theater for us while you’re in
school.”

“Who?
That’s why Dad wanted me to work for him. He doesn’t trust anyone else.”

“Well,
for heaven’s sake, surely there’s someone who can pitch in and help? How about
that young man who works at the concession stand?”

“Steve?
He works two other jobs. He’s nineteen and already has two kids. I can’t expect
him to give up one of his other jobs just for a few weeks until I graduate.”
Danny dropped his head in his hands then ran them through his hair. “Look,
maybe we can talk to someone at school. Explain the situation. I’ve only got a
few more weeks. Maybe they’d work with us to let me cut my afternoon class.
I’ve already got enough credits to graduate.”

“I’ll
be happy to talk to someone, honey.”

He
looked over at his father’s sleeping face. Even at rest, the creases of a face
always scowling made him look mad. Danny thought back on those moments before
the ambulance came when his dad whispered for Danny to tell Joey he was sorry,
to tell his mother—well, he could only assume he wanted her to know how much he
loved her. Such a striking difference from the indifferent, brusque, and angry
father he knew. Would he still be different when he woke up? Would he still ask
Joey to forgive him? Tell his mother how much he loved her?

He blew
out a sigh. “It’ll all work out, I guess. I’m just thankful he pulled through.”

She reached
over and placed her hand on her husband’s. “I couldn’t bear it if we’d lost
him.”

Danny thought
back on all the times his dad had belittled her in front of him. All the times
he’d silenced her with his glare. And still, she couldn’t bear it if she’d lost
him?

Danny needed
some fresh air. “I need to run some errands. I’ll be back in a little while. Do
you need anything?”

“No,
dear. I’m fine.” She took hold of his father’s lifeless hand. “I’ve got all I
need right here.”

13

May
1940

Danny sat
at his father’s desk going over the ledger. As much as he didn’t want to learn
the business, he wished at some point he’d asked his dad to explain the books.
He felt sure it all made sense to his father, but to him it looked like
chicken-scratched numbers in nameless columns. He rubbed his hand over his face
and sighed.

I can’t
do this on my own. I’ve got to take the ledger to Dad at the hospital and have
him explain it. If he can stay lucid long enough.

Danny stared
out the window, fighting the despair consuming him. Ever since he accompanied
his mother to yesterday’s consultation with Dr. Mercer, he’d known his hopes of
starting college in the fall had just gone up in smoke. The doctor’s words
buzzed through his head over and over . . .
With luck Mr. McClain
might be able to leave the hospital by the holidays. But don’t count on him
walking for at least a year. He’ll require months of physical therapy to
retrain mobility of his legs. Of course the head trauma and other internal
injuries are far more serious. As I told you before, Mrs. McClain, your husband
is lucky to be alive.

Danny dropped
his head in his hands.
At least a year . . .
Even if his
dad made it home by Christmas, his mother would need help caring for him. He’d
be an invalid. Who knew when he’d be able to go back to work? Danny could fight
it all he wanted, but nothing would change the fact he’d have to wait another
year to start college.

He
stood up and stretched, then decided to go across the street for a cup of
coffee. He had another half hour before opening the theater doors for the
matinee. He locked the alley door behind him then made his way across
75th
Street
to the diner. He was about to climb the steps when a newsie stepped in front of
him.

“Hey
mister, want a paper?”

He
started to brush past the kid when the big bold letters of the Chicago Tribune headline
jumped out at him:

GERMANS INVADE
HOLLAND

For a
second, he stood motionless, staring at the headline as it seared into his
brain. He dug in his pocket for coins and quickly swapped the newsie for a copy
of the paper. Danny devoured the front page story as fast as he could, his
heart beating faster with every sentence.  The story began the evening of May 9
when Hitler gave another of his ranting speeches. In it, he said The
Netherlands had nothing to fear. Because of their neutrality during the Great
War, he said he respected their wish to remain neutral in the current war. Then,
in the wee hours the following morning, the Dutch were awakened by the
deafening sounds of an air battle overhead. Hundreds of planes roared above
them, many dropping bombs at strategic locations. Others dropped so many paratroopers,
the sky resembled a snow storm with all the white parachutes fluttering down. At
the same time German soldiers poured over the border into every town and
village, many disguised as Dutch citizens, priests, and soldiers. When the real
Dutch soldiers rushed to load their weapons, they found their ammunition cases
filled with sand, further evidence of sabotage.

Danny remembered
Anya once telling him her country didn’t believe in war and therefore didn’t have
a fully trained military. She’d told him how hard she had laughed at a group of
Dutch soldiers riding bicycles with their rifles slung over their shoulders.
How could such an “army” fight the mighty Germans? With war all around them,
why hadn’t they better prepared to fight?

He scanned
the rest of the article, hating what he read and sick with worry about Anya and
her family. Had they survived? Were they safe? As the questions raced through
his mind, he remembered Anya’s last letter. Would it be her last? Would his
letters get through to her? No, of course not. The Germans immediately cut off
every form of communication in the countries they took over.

Danny cursed
and wadded the paper in his hands. He sat down hard on the steps of the diner
ignoring the customers coming and going. He stared across at the theater. Had
it really been only moments before when he’d groaned about having to put off
college for another year? His eyes tracked downward to the paper in his hands.
He carefully spread it across his lap, smoothing out the wrinkles and refolding
it. Somehow it felt like Anya was in those pages and he wanted nothing more
than to protect her. What was a delay in his plans for college compared to the horror
she must surely be facing?

He
closed his eyes, imagining the dark sky over
Holland
, the
ghost-like shapes of the German Luftwaffe flying overhead, the inky blotches of
flak dotting the sky, the massive explosions blowing up bridges and buildings.

He pushed
the thoughts from his mind, trying to stuff them somewhere so he could think of
some way to help, some way to get through to Anya. But what could he do?

Nothing.

Nothing
except pray.

And
right there, on the steps of the
75th Street
Diner,
he prayed.
Oh Lord, keep Anya safe. Keep all of them safe.