Click-clack Klunk-klunk

Jani sat in the Tulip House with his mother while Trudy was in her bedroom, reading a book. Mrs. Van der Veld was clomping around the garden rows in her clogs. She watered the tomatoes and tied their vines to sticks to keep them off the ground. While she gardened, Jani read crossword clues out loud.
“Dutch master, seven letters.”
“Van Gogh,” answered Mrs. Van der Veld.
“Nope, third letter is an R.”
“I’m not sure,” said mother.
Is Ver Meer a painter?” asked Jani.
“Of course! Jan Ver Meer!”
“Mother, you should know that! After all, you do work in an art museum.”
“I work in the museum’s bookstore.”
“I still think you should know.”
“There were almost one-hundred Dutch masters.”
Jani and his mother worked the crossword until the red moving truck’s air brakes squealed out front. Mr. Van der Veld climbed out of his seat and went around to the back of the truck. When Jani heard the rear door slide open, he ran to his bedroom and poked his head out the window. Mr. Van der Veld stood behind the truck, holding a large brown package.
“Jani, would you please come down and help me?”
“What is it?” asked Jani.
“If you come down here, you just might find out.”
Jani scurried down the steps as Ajax followed closely behind, greeting his father at the door. Mr. Van der Veld’s package wasn’t a package at all. It was a hinged wooden gaming board.
“Dutch shuffleboard?”
“Sjöelbak, actually. Would you please take one end?”
“Where do you want to go?” asked Jani.
“Let’s put it in the family room.”
Jani grabbed an end of the Sjöelbak table and led his father into the family room. Mr. Van der Veld unfolded the table. As he assembled the parts, Trudy came downstairs to investigate.
“Shuffleboard! Can I play?”
“It’s called Sjöelbak. You and your brother will play the first game. I’ll play against the winner.”
“What about me?” asked Mrs. Van der Veld.
“I didn’t know you would want to play,” said father.
Mrs. Van der Veld leaned against the handrail at the bottom of the stair and folded her arms. “I used to be shuffleboard champion of my family.”
“Sjöelbak,” corrected Trudy.
Mrs. Van der Veld nodded her head. Mr. Van der Veld unfastened four wooden pegs taped to the inside surface and screwed them into holes. Now that the table had legs, he set in on the floor.
“There,” he said.
“Where are the wooden pucks?” asked mother.
“I left them in the front seat.”
“I’ll get them!” exclaimed Trudy. Trudy grabbed the keys and scurried to the truck. She retrieved a brown paper bag. After Trudy opened the bag, 30 wooden pucks spilled onto the table. She and her brother carefully stacked them beside the game. Each puck was the size of a small donut.
“I want to go first!” said Trudy.
“Why can’t I go first?” argued Jani.
“Your sister fetched the pucks. It’s only fair.”
“But I helped you with the table,” said Jani.
“Do it the Dutch way,: Jani,” insisted mother, “share and share alike.”
“Alright,” groaned Jani as he waited for his turn.
Trudy aimed the pucks at one of the four holes at the other end. Above each hole, there were four numbered pips. Two, three, four, and one, reading left to right. Each wooden puck clicked as it bounced off side rails. Most went through the holes, while others bounced back into the center field. When she finished, she gathered the pucks in center field. Jani stacked the pucks that entered the scoring area.
“Round two!” she said.
During round two, she slid the remaining pucks towards the four holes. After round two, she gathered the pucks remained in center field while her brother stacked the pucks neatly in the scoring area.
“Round three!” she said.
“Good job, Trudy. There are only five left,” said her father.
Carefully, she aimed each puck at the scoring holes. One by one, they entered the scoring area. When she slid her last one, it went into the hole with four pips above it, which meant it was worth four points.
“Let’s count your score,” said Mr. Van der Veld. He evened the four stacks and counted them out. Six sets of four. That’s 120. To that, add four 4s, a 3, and a 2. The total comes to 141.”
“I can beat that,” said Jani.
“The best score possible is 148,” replied Mrs. Van der Veld.
“Just watch this,” said Jani. He gritted his teeth and pushed the pucks towards the holes. His first two pucks went right into the four hole.
“Perfect so far,” he said.
He continued pushing the wooden pucks across the Sjöelbak table. The pucks clicked along quickly, gathering outside the 4-point hole. He aimed each puck carefully. After the first round, he gathered his pucks in center field while Trudy stacked the pucks in the scoring area.
“Look at all the fours,” he boasted.
“You have to slide the pucks into all the holes,” said his mother. Jani ignored her, aiming the pucks for the 4-hole.
At the end of all three rounds, Mr. Van der Veld counted Jani’s score.
“Five sets of four equals 100, plus four extra 4s and one 1. That makes 117.”
Jani frowned. “117? How?”
“You didn’t listen to your mother’s warning.”
“Let me try again.”
“Maybe your mother wants to play,” said Mr. Van der Veld.
“I would like to try once. I haven’t played Sjöelbak in a long time.”
Mrs. Van der Veld rose from her chair, clopping across the wooden floor of the family room. The wooden pucks clicked as she slid them across the Sjöelbak table.
During her turn, Jani gathered the pucks in scoring area and tallied her score: 122. He shuffled the pucks onto the table beside the Sjöelbak board, stacking them in neat columns and rows.
“With all the clicking and clacking of wood, I think it would be a good time to go to my workshop. I want to finish cutting the wood for Mrs. Van Heeswijk’s Christmas surprise,” said father.
“What are you building?” asked Jani.
“If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise,” said Mr. Van der Veld.
“Why didn’t you build a Sjöelbak table?” asked Trudy.
“During my deliveries, the manager at the toy store gave me this table as a gift.”
“But you could make it, right?” asked Trudy.
“Remember when one of the tires on your tricycle broke?”
Trudy nodded.
“I built a new wheel out of a two-by-four.”
“Yeah,” laughed Mrs. Van der Veld, “no matter where you went, I knew where you were. The wooden wheel clunked along the sidewalk.”
“It sounded like someone running in clogs.”
“Every day, you wear clogs around the house. I don’t know why. I think they’re uncomfortable.”
“The main reason I wear the clogs is because your father made them especially for me,” answered Mrs. Van der Veld.
“How long does it take to make a pair of shoes?”
“Usually, it takes two or three hours. For your mother’s shoes, I spent a whole month carving, sanding, and polishing them.”
“Why so long?”
“In the old days, a man would make a special pair of shoes for a girl. In addition to the engagement ring, he would present her with a pair of clogs. If she accepted the shoes, it meant she would marry him.”
“Your father took great care in making these clogs. My feet fit perfectly inside them. These wooden shoes keep my feet warm and dry.”
“Haven’t you seen my woodworking tools?” asked Mr. Van der Veld.
“Not really.”
“Follow me into my workshop,” said Mr. Van der Veld.
The workshop smelled like sawdust and oily rags. In the middle of the room sat a bench. Attached to the bench was a long metal blade.
“If I had a good piece of poplar, I could show you exactly how clogs are made. Unfortunately, I only have scraps of lumber.”
He grabbed a small board and set it on the bench. With smooth strokes, he pushed the blade over the end of the lumber, shaving pieces off the wood. He twisted the board in his hand, rounding off an end of the board.
“Where do you put a foot?” asked Trudy.
Mr. Van der Veld placed the chunk of wood on the bench, holding it with a clamp. He pulled a large T-shaped instrument from the wall. At one end was a corkscrew. He twisted it into the middle of the board. As the corkscrew dug into the board, the wood squealed under the pressure of the blade. Bits of wood popped out of the lumber as a hole was formed.
“Just like that,” answered her father. He undid the clamp and picked up tihe piece of wood. Already, it began looking like a shoe.
“Did you make my clogs?” asked Trudy.
“We bought those from a shoe factory.”
“That’s too bad,” she frowned.
“It takes great patience and great effort to make a good pair of clogs. I’m not as good at it as I used to be.”
“Do you suppose I could learn how to make clogs one day?” asked Jani.
“Maybe one day, I’ll show you how,” said his father, “Right now I’m going to work on Mrs. Van Heeswijk’s surprise.”
“Can I help you with that?” asked Jani.
“Me too! Me too!” said Trudy.
“If you help, it wouldn’t be a surprise, now would it?”
“Come on children, let your father be. If you want to help someone, you can help me prepare dinner.”
“Oh mom,” sighed Jani.
“I know, it’s not as exciting as wooden shoes. If you want, you can play with your new game.”
“I want a rematch with Trudy.”
“I’m going to help mother,” said Trudy.
Mrs. Van der Veld led the children out of the workshop, clomping along as she went. Trudy and her mom worked in the kitchen, mixing dumpling batter and peeling potatoes. Jani returned to the Sjoelbak game, trying to improve his score.
Mrs. Van der Veld formed the dumplings by scooping a spoon into the batter and rolling it off the end of the spoon with her fingers. The dumpling plopped in the hot oil, frying to a golden brown. After Trudy peeled all the potatoes, Mrs. Van der Veld cut them into slices.
“Would you please butter the Dutch Oven and arrange the ingredients inside?”
“Of course, mother,” replied Trudy. She lifted the cast iron cooking pot onto the counter and placed the food inside. Mrs. Van der Veld added pieces of lamb.
Shuffleboard clicks, wooden shoe clacks, and carpentry mallet clunks filled the air as everyone went about their business. The smell of deep-fried dumplings filled the air, too.
The Dutch Oven went into the fireplace and simmered over the hot flames. When dinner was ready, Mrs. Van der Veld slipped out to the workshop.
“Bert, dinner’s ready,” she said.
Mr. Van der Veld quickly threw a sheet over a wooden box.
“What are you making?”
“I told you, it’s a surprise.”
“It’s not my surprise,” she replied.
“Anna Van Heeswijk is one of your best friends. How can I trust that you’ll keep the secret?”
Mrs. Van der Veld smirked.
“I knew it! If I told you, you’d tell her and that would ruin the surprise. You’ll just have to wait until St. Nicholas Day like everyone else.”
Mr. Van der Veld secured the blanket over his workbench. In the dining room, the children were seated, waiting to eat the lamb potpie. Mr. Van der Veld lifted the metal lid off the Dutch Oven. The potpie bubbled, stewing in its own juices. He moved the Dutch Oven out of the fire and used a ladle to pile servings on everyone’s plates.
As everyone ate their meal, the sounds of wood on wood had been replaced with silverware on china and various small talk. Although, Mrs. Van der Veld led her children in questions about Mrs. Van Heeswijk’s surprise, Mr. Van der Veld said nothing. The wrapping on that secret would not be opened until Saint Nicholas Day.

Clouds of Coffee

Ajax was first out the front door, followed closely by Jani. What had been a sun-filled afternoon changed quite a bit by evening. Low-lying cumulus clouds gathered over Utrecht and threatened a downpour of rain.
“C’mon boy, hurry up or there won’t be any Rabbit Stew left for us.”
They cut between houses and through backyards, taking a short cut across the football field.
A group of boys were gathered on the field, playing a game of keep-away. Jani recognized some of the boys from school. A red-headed boy named Rolf booted the ball with his foot. It bounced near Jani’s feet. Jani trapped the ball beneath his shoe, then kicked it back to Rolf.
“Here you go,” said Jani.
“Play some football with us,” said Rolf.
“Not tonight, I have to get some Oat Bread and return home for dinner,” said Jani.
“Alright then, I guess I’ll see you at school tomorrow.”
“Yes, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Mr. Anderssen’s Bake Shop was just on the other side of the field. Jani cut between another set of houses, turned onto the street and stopped in front of Mr. Anderssen’s. Jani fished a leash out of his pocket. He fixed one end to the Ajax’s collar and knotted the other end on a street sign.
“I’ll be right back,” he said. Ajax wagged his tail for a moment and then laid down beside the street sign.
Jani jumped up the steps and pushed on the front door the Bake Shop. Bells jangled as the door swung open. As Jani stepped inside, the door slammed shut behind him.
“Jani Van der Veld, didn’t I just see you in here a little while ago?” asked Mr. Anderssen.
“Yes, sir,” replied Jani.
“What can I help you with this time around?” asked Mr. Anderssen.
“May I please have a loaf of Oat Bread?” asked Jani.
“Sure thing,” replied Mr. Anderssen, “How thick should I slice it?”
Jani held his finger and thumb about an inch apart. Mr. Anderssen set the slicer and fed the loaf into one end. Slices fell out of the machine into a jumpled pile at the other end. Mr. Anderssen wrapped the bread and gave it to Jani.
“Can I also get another rope of licorice?” asked Jani.
Without saying a word, Mr. Anderssen measured, cut, and coiled another piece of licorice. Jani counted out his money and traded it for the food he had purchased.
“You’d better be moving along before the storm comes,” said Mr. Anderssen. He pointed out the front window. Ajax yelped as a steady rain poured from the sky. Jani tucked his purchase under his coat and ran outside.
“Ajax! Stay still or I’ll never get you loose.” Ajax had tugged on the rope, pulling the knot tight. Jani picked at it until it came loose, then grabbed the leash and hurried home.
Ajax led the way, backtracking through the familiar streets. When they came to the football field, it was empty.
Jani tugged on the Ajax’s leash. Ajax tugged back, trying to pull Jani across the field. “We can’t go this way, it’s too muddy!” commanded Jani.
Ajax yelped as two tugged in opposite directions. Finally, Jani gave in and followed his dog’s lead, right through the river of water cutting through the middle of the field. With each leap, Ajax splashed mud and rain on Jani.
“I told you we shouldn’t have gone this way!”
They made it safely across, which was good for both of them. The rains came harder and harder, drenching Jani and Ajax. Jani wiped the back of his hand across his brow, trying to clear rainwater from his eyes.
“I don’t know how you can see, Ajax. The rain burns my eyes,” Ajax led them home, tugging forcefully at the leash. The rain came to a stop as soon as Ajax and Jani arrived in front of their house. Jani pushed the front door open and sepped inside.
“Jani, we’re in here,” called Mrs. Van der Veld from the family room. Mr. Van der Veld had started a fire in the fireplace and everyone gathered there just after Supper. .
“Change out those wet clothes before you catch a cold and I’ll reheat your Stew.” Mrs. Van der Veld followed Jani up the stairs, then continued into the Tulip House.
Jani grabbed his pajamas and took them into the bathroom. He stripped out of this soggy clothes and hung them over the shower rod. His pajamas felt fresh and new. He went downstairs and sat directly in front of the fireplace.
Soon, Jani’s mother returned, carrying a full TV tray. She set the tray between Jani and the fireplace, and then arranged the dishes on the tray.
Jani took a bite of Rabbit Stew, then followed with a drink of milk.
“Ooh, this milk’s cold. Can you warm it up for me?”
“Coffee the wrong way around?” asked Mrs. Van der Veld. Jani nodded.
She picked up the coffee kettle and poured a spot of coffee into his milk. A brown puddle formed in the middle of his cup. He picked up his spoon and stirred his drink. A light brown cloud of coffee swirled inside the milk until everything turned light brown. He sipped it. It tasted just right.
“That’ll warm you from the inside out,” said his father.
“And this will warm you from the outside in,” said mother. She wrapped her son in a wool blanket. Ajax stretched out in front of the fireplace, his nose inches from the hearth. He fell to his side and fell asleep in the warm glow of the fire.
While Jani finished his Rabbit Stew and Coffee-Milk, Trudy stretched out on the floor beside him. She had spread several ceramic picture tiles on the floor face down. She turned up one tile, then turned up another, trying to make matching pairs.
“Would you like to play Dutch Tiles with me?” she asked.
“After I warm up a little,” he said.
Trudy continued playing while Jani watched. Every so often, he pointed to a tile with his foot. Finally, she moved the tiles in front of his chair. Jani used his toe to point his choices and Trudy turned them over. As matches were made, Trudy created to stacks of tiles, one for each children’s matches.
Their mother stood between them, holding a jug of milk in one hand and the coffee kettle in the other.
“Who’s winning?”
“I am,” said Jani.
“I won the last two games,” said Trudy.
“But I’m winning now.” Gloated Jani.
“Would you like some more coffee the-wrong-way-around?” asked Mrs. Van der Veld.
“No, I’m fine,” said Jani.
“I would like to try some,” said Trudy.
“Where’s your cup?”
Trudy fetched a clean glass from the dishwasher and held it out for her mother. Mrs. Van der Veld filled the glass with milk, then added a spot of coffee. After Trudy had a drink, she scrunched up her face.
“You don’t like it, do you?” asked her mother.
Trudy shook her head no. Mrs. Van der Veld set down the coffee kettle and filled her own glass with milk.
“Here you go, we’ll trade,” suggested Mrs. Van der Veld. Trudy took a big gulp of milk, rinsing the coffee taste from her mouth.
“That’s much better.”
“You’ll come to like it once your taste buds get a little older.”
Trudy returned to her seat beside the tiles and continued the game, while Mrs. Van der Veld watched her children. Jani made most of the remaining matches. Trudy built his tower higher and higher, until eight tiles were left.
“I think I can get the rest,” said Trudy.
“If you don’t, I will.”
“I know this one is a picture of a windmill,” said Trudy. She turned the tile over, exposing the picture of a windmill.
“Where is that other one?” wondered Trudy. She moved her hands steadily over the tiles, remembering which tiles had the tulip garden and which ones had the wooden shoes. Another tile sat alone, near Ajax’s tail. Trudy could not remember if it was the other windmill or not. She looked up at her brother. She looked up to her mother. Mrs. Van der Veld nodded her head. Trudy turned the tile over and then smiled when the other windmill picture was exposed.
“That’s no fair, ma,” exclaimed Jani.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to help.”
Trudy turned over both tulip garden pictures, then followed with the wooden shoes, the Dutch flag pictures. She turned the last two tiles over at once, exposing both pictures of the old Lutheran church.
“That’s it, we tied,” said Trudy.
“Only because mama helped. Shuffle them and put them down again. This time I’ll win,” said Jani.
“I think I’m finished playing,” said Trudy.
“You can’t stop now,” argued Jani.
Trudy shrugged her shoulders. The tiles clicked as she stacked them in the small wooden box. She placed them beside the fireplace and cuddled beside the fire with Ajax. Mrs. Van der Veld refilled everyone’s glasses and settled down by the warmth of the fire with her coffee-milk while the rain poured outside.
“I’ll get you next time,” said Jani.
“Then it will be 3-1,” said Trudy.
“I told you the past doesn’t matter.”
“That’s because you lost.”
Jani folded his arms and shut his mouth. He wasn’t used to his little sister winning at Dutch tiles. Soon enough, he’d discover that his little sister was sure to become his equal.

Sugarbread in the Tulip House

It was a particularly bright and sunny Friday afternoon when Jani Van der Veld found himself walking from school. His path was a maze to most; Jani knew it by heart. The familiar left and right turns took him by store windows or curbside gardens. Along the way, he often visited with the shopkeepers, eating a little of this and trying a little of that.
Wheels and hooves click-clacked on the brick-cobbled streets of Utrecht as Jani passed a horse-drawn carriage. He waved at the carriage driver, who tipped his top hat to Jani as the carriage turned down an alley.
On his regular trip home, Jani saw all the familiar faces and places of Utrecht. Every so often, he stopped and looked through the store windows. Inside Tuborg’s Haberdashery, a seamstress fitted a man in his waistcoat while another seamstress was busy operating the sewing machine. Further down the street, the scent of sweetbreads and freshly baked cakes filled the air outside Mr. Anderssen’s Cake Shop. Jani stood at the window and watched while Mr. Anderssen placed a whipped cream cake into a square box and handed it to the customer. Mr. Anderssen glanced up to see Jani’s curious eyes. With the wave of a hand, he invited Jani into his store.
Jani opened the door and held it open for the old lady who had just bought the whipped cream cake.
“Why thank you, young sir,” she replied.
“Have a good evening, Mrs. Hoek. I hope your family enjoys the cake,” said Mr. Anderssen.
“I’m sure they will,” she replied.
The door slammed shut as Jani stepped into the warmth of the Cake Shop. He unbuttoned his coat and placed his books and hat on the countertop.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Anderssen,” he said.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Van der Veld. How was school today?”
“It was okay.”
“When a child tells me school was okay, that must mean it was great.”
Jani smiled.
“And what would catch your fancy, young sir?”
Jani leaned towards the counter, his hands stretching to the back of the cabinet. He peered through the glass. Several trays were arranged on the three shelves, high, middle, and low. There were pretzels and almonds and cakes, all covered in dark chocolate. Unlike his younger sister Trudy, Jani was not fond of chocolate.
Jani looked at the shelves behind Mr. Anderssen. Baking racks filled with candies and baked goods sat at one end. Spools of licorice and chewing gum rope sat at the far end.
“I think I would like some black licorice, please.”
Mr. Anderssen pulled the black licorice spool off the shelf and sat it on the counter.
“How much would you like?” he asked.
“One meter, please,” said Jani.
Mr. Anderssen unwound the licorice and placed it beside the measuring tape running along the counter. With a pair of scissors, he snipped off a length of licorice rope and wrapped it into a coil.
“Would you like anything else?”
“What kind of cookies do you have?” asked Jani.
“I have all kinds. There’s ketelkoek and gevuldekoek and rijstekoek, just to name a few.”
“I’m not sure,” said Jani.
“Who would you be getting these for?” asked Mr. Anderssen.
“Trudy, of course,”
“Do you think she’d like some gevuldekoek?”
Jani nodded.
Mr. Anderssen added the cookies to the bag and sealed it shut.
“Thank you, Mr. Anderssen.”
“It was my pleasure, Jani.”
Jani paid for the treats and hurried home, where his dog Ajax was waiting by the door. Ajax was a wire-haired fox terrier, white with black and orange spots, who always waited patiently at home while Jani was at school or playing soccer with his friends.
The dog jumped excitedly behind the door until Jani pulled it open. Ajax rushed through the open door and jumped up to greet Jani.
“Hey boy, are you glad to see me? I sure am glad to see you!” exclaimed Jani. Jani and Ajax went inside. Jani placed his things on the hallway table, and then took off his coat and hat.
“I’d better not forget this, had I boy?” Jani asked Ajax. It was the usual half-conversation Jani and Ajax often had. Jani would talk. Ajax would listen. Sometimes, Ajax would bark, but mostly, he’d listen.
Jani grabbed the white paper bag and raced Ajax upstairs. He went into his room and changed into play clothes before going out to the back balcony.
On the back balcony, a small greenhouse was connected to the house. Inside the greenhouse were all sorts of vegetables including potatoes and onions and cucumbers, too. There were also tomato stakes, covered with healthy green vines and small red tomatoes.
In the far end of the greenhouse sat a small yellow stove. Next to the stove sat his mother, doing crosswords while she enjoyed her pre-dinner tea and sugarbread.
“Good afternoon, mama,” said Jani. He sat in the chair beside his mother and placed the white paper bag on the table between them.
“Good afternoon, dear.”
“Where’s Trudy? I have a surprise for her.”
“She’s in her bedroom, I think.”
“Aren’t you wondering what’s in the bag?”
“I already know what’s in the bag,” she answered.
“How do you know?”
“It’s one of the baker’s bags from the Bake Shop.”
“But you don’t know what’s inside.”
“Gevuldekoek,” answered mother.
“Yes, that’s right,” replied Jani, “but what else do I have in the bag?”
“Black licorice,” answered Mrs. Van der Veld.
“Yes, that’s right, too. How did you know?”
“You think I do not know what my son and daughter like to eat?”
“I guess so,” replied Jani. He grabbed the bag and went towards his sister’s room.
“I have a surprise for you,” said Jani.
“There’s my Gevuldekoek!” exclaimed Trudy.
“How does everyone know what I have in my white paper bag?” asked Jani.
“Mr. Anderssen called and told Mama. He was wondering why she had not visited his store in such a long while.”
“It’s because of that yellow oven in the Tulip House,” said Jani.
“That’s what Mama said, too.”
“Why go to the store when she can bake sugarbread and pepernoten herself?”
Trudy pulled an almond cookie out of the paper bag and took a bite. Caramel filling oozed out of the cookie’s center.
“For Gevuldekoek,” said Trudy.
“And Black Licorice, too,” replied Jani. He reached into the white paper bag and pulled out the black coil of licorice rope. They ate all their goodies in Trudy’s room, trading cookies for strips of licorice. After everything in the bag had been eaten, Jani returned to the Tulip House with his mother.
“Would you like some Sugarbread?” she asked.
“I’m not hungry.”
“I hope you didn’t spoil your appetite for dinner. I made us some Rabbit Stew.”
“I’m just not hungry for Sugarbread. I left plenty of space for Rabbit Stew.”
Jani sat beside his mother as she worked the crosswords. Every so often, she’d stop for a drink of tea of a bite of Sugarbread. Meanwhile, Jani would sit quietly, listening to the traffic on the street below.
“Why do you call this the Tulip House if we don’t grow any tulips?”
“A long time ago, your Great Grandmother Gertrude used to grow tulips in her greenhouse, so she called it the “Tulip House”. For a short while we grew tulips in our greenhouse, too, so we called this place the Tulip House. I guess it just kind of stuck.”
“I think you should call it the Tomato House.”
“I’ll think about it,” said his mother.
Every evening, just after 6:00 pm, Mr. Van der Veld’s moving truck pulled into the driveway beside the house. The air brakes squealed and the trailer rumbled as the truck came to a stop. Jani saw the truck’s bright red nose from his spot inside the Tulip House.
Mr. Van der Veld opened the truck door and stepped down from the platform beside the driver’s seat. After he closed the truck door, he turned around and waved and his wife and son.
“Dad’s home,” said Jani.
“I’ll set the table. You run along and get ready for supper.”
“Can we eat in the Tulip House?”
“The weatherman said it’s supposed to rain.”
“Look around Mama. There isn’t a single cloud in the sky.”
“Alright, I suppose we can eat out here,” she sighed.
Jani fetched his sister and they washed their face and hands. Meanwhile, Mrs. Van der Veld set four places at the small picnic table in the Tulip House, and placed the Rabbit Stew and a dish of fried tomatoes beside it. She filled the drinking glasses and straightened the tablecloth one last time.
“There, that should do.” Soon after, everyone gathered for supper.
“What’s the occasion?” asked Mr. Van der Veld.
“The occasion for what?” replied Mrs. Van der Veld.
“For the Rabbit Stew, the crisp linens, and eating outside.”
“I decided on Rabbit Stew this morning when I was cleaning out the freezer. Jani wanted to eat outside, so I decided it would be nice to cover up this old picnic table so it would be pleasant.”
“And pleasant it is,” replied Mr. Van der Veld.
Everyone’s bowl was passed across the table to Mr. Van der Veld, who poured two ladlefuls of stew into everyone’s bowl before it was passed back across the table.
“What’s that smell?” asked Jani.
“I almost forgot my surprise!” exclaimed Mrs. Van der Veld. She slipped a hand into her oven mitt and ran to the yellow oven in the corner. Quickly, she pulled the door open and pulled out a loaf of bread.
“I hope it didn’t get burnt,” she said.
Mr. Van der Veld cut into the dark brown crust, which crunched under the weight of the knife. A billow of steam rose from the center of the loaf.
“I think it’s ruined,” said Trudy.
“Just try a piece,” replied her mother.
Mrs. Van der Veld cut a piece of bread for each member of the family, including Ajax. Jani was first to try the bread.
“Mmmm,” said Jani. Mrs. Van der Veld looked up to see Jani crinkle his nose.
“Is it that bad?” she asked.
“It’s terrible,” exclaimed Trudy. She immediately spat the piece into her hand. Jani swallowed his and so did Mr. Van der Veld. Mrs. Van der Veld cautiously took a bite.
“Oh my!” she exclaimed. She gathered up the uneaten bread and dropped it to the floor. Ajax gobbled up the burnt bread as soon as it hit the floor.
“Of course you like it,” she sighed.
Mrs. Van der Veld looked at the bread on the floor and then at the bowls of Rabbit Stew.
“We can’t eat stew without buttered bread,” she said, “Jani, I’ll give you a few Euros. Run down to the Bake Shop and get us some Oat Bread.”
“Right now?” asked Jani.
“It’s only a few minutes away.”
“But I haven’t had one bite,” he replied.
“Neither have the rest of us, so hurry along and we’ll be waiting for you.”
So, without any further discussion, Jani pulled on his coat and hat and prepared for a quick trip back to Mr. Anderssen’s Bake Shop.