Free Of Windmills and War by Diane H Moody

scrubbed and sparkling, Danny sliced another
piece of pumpkin pie and tiptoed past his mother who was napping on the sofa.
He could hear his dad still down in the basement banging around with his tools,
probably still grumbling to himself. Danny hoped he stayed down there a while.
He headed upstairs, looking forward to writing Anya a letter. Snow was falling
again, so any more shoveling would have to wait.
    Sophie
hopped up on the bed, her long ears swaying back and forth until she circled
twice and settled in for a snooze. Danny grabbed a pen and paper, using last
year’s Calumet yearbook
as a writing surface.
    “Sophie,
do you mind?” He pushed her to the side, allowing himself enough room to sit on
his bed to write. She snorted once for good measure, then lay her head back
down.
     
    Dear
Anya,
    It was
great to get your letter yesterday. It sounds like you’re already quite popular
with all the farm animals, which is no surprise. I’ve tried to imagine you
squatting beside Josephine as you milk her, but I’m sure the images in my head
don’t do it justice. And congratulations on the new litter of piglets—or “biggetjes”
as you called them. Why, you must be in hog heaven! (Ha ha) Have your parents
accepted your new job?
    You
won’t believe what happened today . . .
     
    Danny wrote
out the details of their most unusual Thanksgiving, the unexpected table
conversation, and the great relief he now felt. He knew she’d understand. Three
pages later, he began to wrap it up.
     
    I
realize this may be the last letter you receive from me before Sinterklaas.
You’ll have to write and tell me all about the special gifts you and your parents
made for each other. I know it will be hard for you without Hans, but maybe you
can focus on the good memories and celebrate his life. I still miss him too.
    Merry Christmasto
you and your family.
    Danny

10
     
     
    February 19,
1940
     
    Dear
Danny,
    Today
is my birthday, though there’s little to celebrate. I don’t think Hans ever
told you that he and I shared the same birthday. Mother always told me that when
I was born, Hans thought I was one of his birthday gifts. I smile whenever I
think of it and how happy he must have been. But today, I find it hard to
smile. This is now my second birthday without my brother.
    In The Netherlands birthdays
are very special. We normally get up early and open all our gifts, then have a
special breakfast of our favorite foods. But the air is filled with such
tension now, none of us felt like celebrating. Mother and Father tried to make
a nice morning for me, but we are all much too nervous. And it’s very difficult
to get certain kinds of food now, certainly nothing for a cake.
    The weather
turned bitterly cold this week and coal is already scarce. We wear several
layers of clothing on the days the coal runs out and sleep under many blankets.
I still ride my bicycle out to the Boormans’ farm to help out. My piglets are
growing much too fast. With food so scarce, I worry they will be slaughtered to
provide the family and others with food to eat or sell. I’ve named them all. I
can’t stand thinking their little lives may soon be over.
    Wim is
on a crutch now, but he’s too slow to help much. Sometimes he keeps me company in
the barn as I help with the chores. He’s very nice. The other day I caught him
staring at me. At first it made me mad. Then the more I thought about it, I
liked it. All my friends have dated, but always I have found that most boys are
stupid. Now I’m not so sure anymore.
    You
must write to tell me of new movies that have come to your father’s theater. I
think it is nice that you offered to help him out. I’m glad to hear he’s
stopped being so mad at you. I wonder if you see the same newsreels we see at
the cinema. They seem longer and longer. They trouble me, always showing bombs
dropped here and there. We heard on the BBC that all of Britain is now
on food rationing, though they already evacuated most