by Diane Moody
“That’s when I got the idea to have another Christmas to celebrate Anya’s homecoming. I called home and told Dad and Joey to find a tree and start decorating.”
“Well, you couldn’t have surprised us more.”
She kissed his cheek. “Now, you two go get something to eat. We’ll open presents after everyone leaves.”
Neighbors came and went; everyone wanting to meet Anya until she thought one more smile would surely break her jaw. Many had helped with the spread of food, unlike anything she had seen since before the war. While sampling a cookie, she was delighted to meet Lara Zankowski—or “Mrs. Z” as Danny called her.
“I feel as though I already know you,” Anya said, “from all Danny’s letters telling me about his favorite teacher.”
“Really? Well, teachers aren’t supposed to have pets, but between you and me, Danny was always my favorite. He always shared my love of history, and what teacher doesn’t love to have a student catch the passion for the subject matter?
“Now, Joey? That was a totally different situation. That young man didn’t care one iota about his studies, but oh my, what a charmer he was. I lost count of how many girls vied for his attention in the classroom. But I loved him from the start. Which is a good thing now that I’m his aunt.”
Danny caught Anya’s eye, crooking his finger for her to join him in the kitchen.
“I’m sorry, but could you give me a moment? Danny’s motioning for me.”
“No problem, I need to walk home. School night, you know.” She placed her hand over Anya’s. “You tell that handsome husband of yours to bring you over for coffee once you get settled. All right?”
“Yes, of course. I’ll look forward to it.”
With a quick hug, she was gone. Anya worked her way over to the kitchen where Danny introduced her to Mrs. Martello and her sister Angelica. He told her they lived side by side in the two houses across the street.
“Are these the ladies whose snow you used to shovel?”
“Best snow boy we ever had!” Mrs. Martello said. “We haven’t had a decent shoveling since he left.” She took both of Anya’s hands in hers and gave her a peck on each of her cheeks.
Her sister Angelica did the same. Anya noticed they both wore the same sweet fragrance.
The elderly pair gave them a large gift box wrapped in festive Christmas paper.
“Don’t let the paper fool you.”
“It’s your wedding gift.”
“Oh, how thoughtful,” Anya said, motioning for Danny to help her unwrap it. As they lifted the lid, the overpowering scent of mothballs wafted from the box. Inside, wrapped in layers of white tissue paper, they found a knitted blanket. Patterns of bright color on a black background. “Oh my goodness, what a beautiful blanket.”
“It’s an afghan, not a blanket.”
“We crocheted it.”
“Both of us.”
“Started it the day we heard you two got married.”
“Because every couple needs an afghan.”
“How nice of you. Isn’t it lovely, Danny?”
“It sure is. Thanks, ladies,” Danny said. “We’ll think of you every time we wrap up in it.”
“Course, we had no idea it would take this long for you to get here.”
“So we stored it in the closet.”
Ah. Mothballs. Of course.
They continued the chatter, each finishing the other’s sentences. They were adamant that Anya insist on having a “real” wedding now that she was going to live in America. She avoided eye contact with Danny, despite his silly antics behind the two sisters. She assured them she and Danny would discuss the matter.
Anya would never remember all the names, but did her best.
But she was especially drawn to Millie the moment they finally met.
“Oh Anya, I’m so pleased to meet you!” she said with a hug. “Welcome home!”
“Thank you, Millie. To be honest, I can’t believe I’m actually here.”
“I’m so sorry I wasn’t out front to greet you, but just as you all drove up, Jimmy blew out his diaper. Wouldn’t you know? I had to bathe him and then dress both of us again. But forget all that now. You’re home!”
She hugged her again then introduced her to seven-month-old son Jimmy, his bib already soaked from the onslaught of drool which Millie attributed to teething. Nevertheless, the little guy smiled constantly, clearly enjoying all the attention.
She decided Jimmy was the “spitting image” of both Joey and Millie.
They talked like old friends, and Anya was touched again at the simple pleasure of friendship. With each passing moment, she felt the long months of apprehension and suppressed fear slipping away.
And the thought pleased her more than she could have imagined.
When the last of the neighbors took their leave, Danny and Anya joined the rest of the family around the beautifully decorated Christmas tree. Betty pointed out the ornament Anya had sent them from London, then distributed the gifts for the two of them. A soft pink chenille robe for Anya. A pair of leather gloves for Danny. A set of fluffy white bath towels and washcloths, and so much more.
Afterward, as the family relaxed over coffee and dessert, Danny sat back and enjoyed watching Anya and his family get to know each other.
She’d changed since he’d left her in England. He’d noticed it as soon as they reunited at the dock in New York. Anya had never been comfortable in social settings. She’d always been guarded and slow to warm to strangers. Those first weeks in Framlingham, he’d noticed subtle hints of change as she and Sophie became friends. He would never be able to thank Sophie enough for welcoming Anya with such open arms. Her friendship had helped Anya in ways he never could.
After he’d flown home, she’d worked at the pub with Sophie and Charlie. Is that when she learned to relax around strangers? When she moved to London, had she grown accustomed to living with her roommates, all of them strangers for the most part? Did it happen overnight? Or had the weeks and months slowly eroded the carefully constructed walls around her heart? Seeing her with Kate and Gigi the day they arrived had astounded him, the bond of sisterhood as plain as day when they said their goodbyes.
He had not discussed these changes with her, merely observed them and thanked God for the work He was obviously doing in her spirit. But he also recognized the emotional fatigue, knowing the gathering of friends and family had been a bit much for her. Too much, too soon perhaps.
“Well, family, this was great.” He pushed back his chair and stood, feigning a yawn. “Thank you for such a nice homecoming, but I’m ready to call it a night. I don’t know about you, Anya, but I’m exhausted.”
“Yes, I suppose I am.” She stood and gathered their dishes.
“Leave those, Anya,” Betty said. “We’ll take care of them. You two go get some rest. We’ll see you in the morning.”
They said goodnight and made their way up the stairs.
As they settled into his room, Danny noticed something off but couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He jumped when something scratched on their door, then laughed when he realized it was Sophie. He cracked open the door and in she came. She meandered over to Anya, sniffing at her feet and looking up at her with curious eyes.
Anya knelt to pet her. “Hi there, Sophie. I met you downstairs, remember?”
Her tail swished back and forth as she accepted Anya’s scratch beneath her chin. When she’d had enough, she parked herself beside the bed and glanced over at Danny, uttering a quiet whimper. He picked her up and set her on the bed where she circled twice, planted herself in the middle, and let out a long sigh. Some things never change, he thought.
“Oh, I see how it is,” Anya teased. “You’re not used to sharing Danny with anyone, are you? And especially the bed?”
“Don’t worry.” Danny pulled his tie from his neck and hung it in the closet. “I’ll give her the boot when we … uh, when we go to bed.”
“Yes, and we’ll see
how well she likes that.” Anya reached over to give her a good scratch behind the ears. Sophie rolled onto her side, her leg jiggling in response.
Danny smiled. “You keep that up, and I’ll be the one who gets the boot.”
They took their time, making small talk as they unpacked. When they finished, Danny turned off the overhead light and took her into his arms as they stood at the foot of the bed. How long had he waited for this moment? Suddenly, he felt shy and wondered why.
“What?” she asked.
“What do you mean ‘what’?”
“I don’t know. There’s an odd expression on your face. What are you thinking about?”
He shook his head and glanced away, knowing she was right but unable to make sense of it. “I’m not really sure—”
The patter of footsteps outside the door halted their conversation.
“Goodnight, Millie,” Betty’s voice sounded from the hall. “Thanks for your help in the kitchen.”
They watched her shadow pass beneath the door.
“You’re welcome, Betty. Good night,” Millie answered down the hall. Two separate clicks of doors closing ended the interruption.
“Ah.”
He looked back at her, curious at the smile on her face. “Ah?”
“It’s this. Us. Here in your bedroom, under the same roof as your family.”
Understanding washed over him. “You know, I think you’re right. It’s all a bit … awkward, isn’t it?”
“Yes, I suppose it is.”
They stared at each other then snickered at the exact same moment.
Without taking his eyes off her, he nodded toward the bed. “Well, we don’t have to—”
“Nonsense,” she whispered with a smirk. “We’ll figure it out.”
A low growl from the bed distracted them. Anya snorted, startled by the sound of it. Danny covered his mouth as they both laughed.
“Sophie, believe it or not, you can’t—”
She growled louder, raising her head but looking past them.
“Now see here, Sophie.” Danny started toward her, but before he could reach her, she stood, the fur along her spine standing straight up. Her growling grew louder.
“Danny, do you think it’s me?”
“I’m not sure. I’ve never seen her act like this before—” He paused, raising his hand. “Wait … do you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
“Music.”
She stood still, listening. A moment later, a smile of recognition. First hers, then his.
In the silence, they could hear music playing.
A familiar tune.
Played on a fiddle.
They moved toward the window and drew back the curtains. There, on the sidewalk below, silhouetted against the street light, Cosmos played for them.
Oh Danny boy …
They couldn’t help laughing at their discovery, such a sight at a time like this. Then they grew silent, listening to the melody so perfectly suited for them. Anya nestled herself against him, slipping her arm around his waist. He pulled her closer beside him, her head coming to rest against his chest.
He brushed his lips against her forehead then whispered in her ear.
“Welcome home, Anya. Welcome home.”
________________
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About the Author
Born in Texas and raised in Oklahoma, Diane Hale Moody is a graduate of Oklahoma State University. She lives with her husband Ken in the rolling hills just outside of Nashville. They are the proud parents of two grown and extraordinary children, Hannah and Ben.
To date, Diane has penned thirteen books with several more projects vying for her attention. She and her husband Ken, who writes as McMillian Moody, founded OBT Bookz in 2011.
When she’s not reading or writing, Diane enjoys an eclectic taste in music and movies, great coffee, and the company of good friends.
Visit Diane's website at dianemoody.net and her blog, “just sayin’” at dianemoody.blogspot.com.
Acknowledgments
I’m quite confident Danny and Anya might never have made it to the altar if not for the faithful encouragement of my husband Ken. On those days when I lost my way on the page, he was always, always there for me. Not to mention all the household chores he silently tackled so I could stay focused. I’m so humbled and honored that I get to do life with you, Ken Moody. How I thank God for these past 35 years and how they grow sweeter every year.
I never would have written Of Windmills & War if not for my dad, Glenn Hale. Many of Danny’s experiences came from the pages of Dad’s wartime memoirs. At 92 years young, Dad has enjoyed reading all the reviews and having more opportunities to tell his story. While Danny’s post-war life took an entirely different path from my father’s, I’ve relied on Dad’s phenomenal memory to get my facts straight. Couldn’t have done it without you, Dad. And please accept my condolences for your beloved Cubs. It’s been 70 years since their last World Series appearance, and they sure came close this time. Darn that goat! But as you always say, when it comes to the Cubs, “there’s always next century!”
Tremendous thanks to my wonderful editor Bev Harrison for adding her Aussie sparkle to my manuscript. I hope we have many more projects together, my friend.
To my daughter Hannah Moody for designing another gorgeous book cover. I am blown away by the gifts God has given you and the beautiful woman you’ve become. To the moon and back, sweetie.
Additional thanks to Lydia Kindred Kirk for help to give my English war brides the proper Brit-speak. I take full responsibility if I got it wrong, my friend. Thank you also for allowing me to “borrow” the newest member of your family—sweet Jocelyn Rose. I can’t wait to meet her face to face.
To Lydia’s parents, Peter and Kath Kindred, for your unwavering dedication to the memory of the 390th through the Parham Air Museum. Dad and I will never forget our visit with you and your incredible team of docents.
Special gratitude to Michele Edwards Thomas and all the wonderful folks at The American War Bride Experience website: www.usawarbrides.com What a fabulous resource of stories, photographs, ship manifests, and so much more. Thank you for keeping these amazing stories alive and well, and for use of a war brides photograph from your website.
And finally, a heartfelt word of thanks for my favorite war bride, Joan Van Spyker. Joan and her baby daughter came to America on the Queen Mary in 1945. (More about Joan in my tribute on the following page.) With the fondest of memories and gratitude, I dedicate this book to your memory. Oh, how we miss you, love.
In Memory of Joan Van Spyker
As I began my research for this book, I remembered a dear friend in Florida who had come to America as a war bride. Over the past few months, I enjoyed many long hours on the phone with Joan, loving every moment as she reminisced in her beautiful English accent. Much of Joan’s story wove its way into the characters of my war brides in my book.
Joan was just thirteen years old when the war started in the skies over England in 1940. She told of walking along a road one day and seeing a bomber drop out of the clouds and coming toward her. She ducked into some nearby hedges and watched as a Messerschmitt strafed the middle of the road she’d been walking. She remembered wearing those tin pith helmets and hearing the shrapnel “ping” against it. Can you imagine.
In 1944, she was working in the offices of a Spitfire factory. After work, U.S. Army troop trucks would stop by offering the girls a ride to dances with American soldiers. One night, Joan noticed a handsome guy playing saxophone in the band. When they took a break, she walked right up and introduced herself. His name was Joe Solerno, an Italian-American from Long Island, New York. Joe helped arrange music for the Glenn Miller Band. Joan and her very own GI Joe fell in love and married when she was just seventeen. With strict rationing still enforced, Joe’s army buddies stole in
gredients to make them a wedding cake. Then, after a lengthy wait with thousands of other war brides, Joan and their baby daughter came to the United States on the Queen Mary in March of 1946. Just before dawn on the morning they pulled into New York Harbor, she joined the others on deck to see the Statue of Liberty, bathed in brilliant spotlights to welcome them. Almost 70 years later, she still remembered the tremendous wave of emotion of that unforgettable moment.
Joe survived the war, but was killed when a tree fell on him back in the States. She remarried a wonderful man named Howard Shedd, but not long after, she was widowed for the second time. A few years later she was introduced to a recent widower named Bernie Van Spyker. She thought he was “too loud and too coarse!” He thought she was “too old, too tall, and too uppity!” Regardless, they started seeing each other and one day, while on her lunch hour, he took her to the beach and surprised her by serving communion. She still didn’t realize he was courting her. They married on “1.1.81” and had 34 wonderful years together.
Last August (2015), Joan enjoyed a fabulous tea party given in honor of her 90th birthday. But her health was declining, and by November, she was more than ready to meet her Lord and Savior face to face. In those last days, our mutual friend Judy Gussler was able to tell her I’m dedicating my book to her. Judy snapped a picture of Joan giving me a “thumbs up” at the news. I only wish I’d finished the book in time for her to read it.
Joan passed quietly into the presence of God on November 23, 2015. And as she did, I have no doubt whatsoever that she heard Him say, “Well done, thou good and faithful servant.”
Joan Van Spyker
Discussion Questions
1. What was the main theme of this book?
