Of Windmills and War by Diane H Moody Read Free Book Online Page B

inning of the first game, he started grumbling about
the scoreless game, letting Danny know he wanted to leave early.
    “Dad, c’mon. With Dizzy Dean on the mound, you know
something’s gonna happen. He hasn’t lost a game yet this year. Besides, there’s
a whole other game after this one. Why can’t we stay?”
    His father chewed on some peanuts, tossing the shells
beneath his seat. He wiped his hands on his pants and stared a hole into Danny.
“If nothing happens by the end of this inning, we’re leaving. Not another
word.”
    Danny huffed, tamping down his simmering frustration .
What’s the point of coming to a double-header if you’re not gonna stay til the
end? Sure it’s hot and windy, but you never know when something exciting might
happen. He remembered all the times he and Joey had come to Wrigley,
chasing balls, shouting at the opposing team, and cutting up with their friends.
Didn’t matter where they sat, they always had a good time. Not like today. He
should have known his dad would spoil it all.
    The announcer’s voice boomed across the field. “Next up at
the plate, number eleven, catcher Gabby Hartnett.”
    Danny stood and applauded, cheering with the crowd for the
manager-player, one of his favorites. “Come on, Gabby! Knock it outta here!”
    “Sit down, Danny.”
    A split second after the words growled from his father’s
mouth, the loud, promising crack of bat-connecting-with-ball echoed across the ball
park. As he looked up, Danny couldn’t believe it—the ball was coming right at
him!
    “I got it! I got it!” Just as he stretched his gloved hand
high above him, the man in front of him blocked his view with a glove of his
own.
    “Let me get it, mister! Let me get it!”
    “No way, kid! That ball is mine!”
    As the ball began to drop from the sky, the glove in front
of him disappeared. The ball smacked hard in Danny’s glove.
    “I got it! Dad, look! I got!”
    As he turned to show the ball to his father, his smile faded.
The guy in front of him had a fistful of Dad’s shirt, spewing a stream of beer-stained
expletives at him. “I had as much a right to that ball as your stupid kid. I oughta
knock you out of this park for that, you jerk! That was MY BALL!”
    Danny couldn’t believe it. His father must have pulled the
guy’s arm down so Danny could catch the ball. His dad had never done anything
like that before! Danny’s heart pounded.
    His father calmly untangled his shirt from the man’s hand then
grabbed both the man’s wrists in a vice grip. In a quiet, methodical tone he said,
“Keep your filthy hands off me. Understood?”
    The guy stood there blinking bloodshot eyes, wincing as he finally
yanked his hands free. He mumbled a few more choice words and rubbed his wrists
as he turned then dropped into his seat.
    Danny could see the nerve twitching on his father’s jaw. He
knew this kind of situation could easily be volatile for Dad, but he refused to
let it spoil the thrill of catching Hartnett’s home run ball. He reached out,
slowly putting his hand on his father’s arm. “Dad?”
    He watched as his father stood silent for a couple of
seconds, his eyes still glued on the drunken fan seated in front of them. Then
he slowly exhaled, gradually turning to let his eyes fall on the ball still
resting in Danny’s glove. His smile, almost imperceptible, sent of rush of
relief through Danny.
    “That was a real fine catch, Danny.”
    The idea came to him immediately. He lifted the ball out of
his glove, stared at it, and without a second thought placed it his father’s
hand, curling his fingers around it. “Thanks, Dad. It’s yours.”
    His father rolled the ball around in his hand and tossed it
a few inches in the air. When he caught it, he handed it back to his son with a
wink. “No, Danny, it’s yours. You keep it.”
    Danny smiled and looked away. Maybe this wouldn’t be such a
bad summer after all.
    Later that night, he wrote a five-page letter to Anya,
telling