Dear Papa (2 page)

Since it wasn’t Sunday, only a holiday, Mr. Jordahl thought it would be all right to play cards, so we did.

Your ace of hearts,

Isabelle

December 7, 1943

Dear Papa,

We sat for one minute in silence at school today. The Japs bombed Pearl Harbor two years ago today, when I was seven. You held me on your lap while we listened to the radio. It was the only time I ever heard you pray except at the table. Miss Lockey says we must all do our part for the duration. I will pray just like you did:

Christ Almighty!

God, damn them all to hell.

Holy Jesus, preserve us.

Mama was so happy to hear you praying, she turned off the radio and asked you to go to church with her right then that night.

In remembrance,

Isabelle

January 1, 1944

Dear Papa,

It is a brand-new year. I have made some resolutions: Help the first time Mama asks. Hang up my clothes before bed. Go to church with a willing heart. Keep our family together.

Your daughter,

Isabelle, nine and a half today

P. S. (That means there’s more to say.) You might be wondering about that last one. Christmas wasn’t too good this year. That old Uncle Bernard came driving up on Christmas Eve, right during meatballs and minutes away from presents. Mama made a fuss for her big brother, of course. She pulled up your chair for him at the table. They sat talking and talking and this is what I heard: The family doesn’t think Mama should be caring for five children and working every day, too. Mama said she was managing on her income just fine, thank you very much. Well, old U. B. leaned back in your chair (damaging the legs, I’m sure, because he is on the stout side, you’ll recall) and then he leaned closer to Mama and said, “Sophie, money is not exactly what I had in mind.” That was when Mama shooed us all off to the kitchen to clean up. Ida dropped her plate and Ian whined about presents and Irma wouldn’t let me stand close enough to hear what they said next.

I know you aren’t supposed to have any troubles in heaven and I hope Jesus doesn’t mind if I worry you a bit, but just so you know, nothing has happened yet. I’m only telling you that something is wrong around here and I am trying to find out what it is. I’ll write again sooner this time.

January 1, 1944

Dear Aunt Izzy,

Welcome to 1944! You said I could write anytime. How is Muffin? I hope he hasn’t gotten stuck in the tree again. The firemen sure came fast last time.

I am writing to you because I need help. Mama won’t let me call you. To update you since Papa died, our cat ran away, Mama went to work, Irma and Inez got boyfriends, and Mama’s brother Bernard thinks Mama should send me and Irma and Inez to live with the uncles so her money can stretch farther and her energy, too. Uncle Edgar needs help on the farm and Uncle Bernard and Aunt Jaye want a girl around the house. She just called a family meeting to tell us. She said it is only for a while, but I think that is too long, especially since I am scheduled to go to Bernard’s house. They don’t have even one child and they have lots of money and a Pontiac. What would Mama do without me to take the electric bill downtown on the streetcar and keep Ida and Ian entertained after school? Irma and Inez would get to go together to Uncle Edgar’s farm and they are boo-hooing because they don’t want to leave their boyfriends.

So I am asking you please, as Papa’s sister, to come here and straighten things out. I know that if Mama had more rest or more money she wouldn’t be listening to those brothers. We live at 1234 Palace and you can have my bed when you come. I will wash the sheets today and will be watching for you from the porch window if you come soon enough and I am not already gone.

Your niece and namesake,

Isabelle Valborg Anderson

January 15, 1944

Dear Aunt Izzy,

It must be a really long drive from California and I’m sure you had to try to get time off work and you would have come right away if you could have. But if you are not already on the road, here is my new address: 1175 Grandview, Zumbrota, Minnesota. (The view is not as grand as the name might suggest. From my window I see right into the window of the nosy girl next door.) The uncles move fast. By the time school started back after New Year’s, I was in my new school. My notebooks and pencils and that lovely bookmark you sent for my last birthday are all in my old classroom with my old friends and the best teacher I ever had. Mama promised me that Ian would get them for me, but you know Ian. (Well, I guess you don’t really, but he is the family forgetter, and besides, he is only six.)

Please consider our dilemma. Children should be with their mothers, no matter how much money their uncles have. I know Mama would listen to you, as you were Papa’s favorite sister and the only one still living. Your siblings sure all died young. I hope you don’t.

From the third-floor bedroom,

Isabelle Valborg

P. S. Did you ever tell any of your friends what your middle name is? I haven’t.

January 16, 1944

Dear Papa,

I am in Zumbrota. Remember when we came here for the Fourth of July family reunion? Well, now I am living here. I am not going to put my clothes in the dresser like Aunt Jaye says because I do think that Mama will be coming back to get me this weekend. If it does not snow too much more, she said she and Ida and Ian would come to celebrate Mama’s birthday here. I’m sure she will see by now that it is more work to have me gone than at home. There is a picture here of Mama when she was younger. She had on this little beaded hat and such a big smile. Her eyes were dancing. Was it you she was looking at? In the mirror I think I look a little like that Mama.

Love,

Isabelle

January 17, 1944

Dear Ian,

I have my own room here. Imagine! A bed big enough for two at least, a dresser, a little desk where I am sitting right now, and a window where I can spy on the girl next door. She is ten but thinks she is much older than me. She thinks I am an orphan and doesn’t believe that I have any brothers and sisters at all! Just wait until you show up this weekend and she sees how all us kids look alike as paper dolls, just different sizes. We’ll see who’s an orphan then! Her name is Eleanor, after the president’s wife. See if you can think of something we can do to scare the liver out of her when you come!

Is Ida still as stubborn as always? Don’t you dare put her in the closet when you two fight, now. And hold her hand during blackouts. Remember, she is the baby of the family. Please write me a letter if you can. Or you could draw a picture.

Have you gotten all my things from Miss Lockey’s room yet?

Your sister,

Isabelle

(Hi, Mama! I know you are reading this to Ian. I tried to write big so he could read some of it. Maybe he could just look for all the “I”s or something. Aunt Jaye gave me a whole sheet of stamps. I am enclosing some for all of you. Can’t wait to see you!)

January 17, 1944

Dear Ida,

How is everything in the yellow bedroom? I made you a paper doll. It is me! Can you tell by the straight yellow hair and blue eyes? If we made an Ida doll, we’d need to make lots of curls for her. Can you cut out some clothes for paper Isabelle? I think she’ll need a snowsuit. Shoes, too. There is no shoe ration for paper dolls so make her as many as you want.

Don’t forget Mama’s birthday’s coming up. You and Ian could make a card together. (Mama, try to forget this!) I will see you this weekend! You can stay with me in my green bedroom.

Love and kisses,

Belle

January 18, 1944

Dear Irma and Inez,

Thank you for writing. No, I am not adjusting to small-town life. How is everything on the farm? Have you heard from the boys yet? Mama and Ian and Ida are coming down for Mama’s birthday this weekend. Are you going to come, too? I am sure Uncle Edgar would bring you since there will be a party with cake, and I remember that at the reunion he ate the whole flag part of the cake. Are you happy being at the farm? I guess you want to get back to the city and Charlie and Stuart and all your friends. Well, me, too. We could work on a plan this weekend.

Uncle Bernard and Aunt Jaye are pretty quiet people. U. B. goes off to the bank every morning and A. J. generally pads around the house picking up and searching for dust. She has given me lots of paper and had this room all ready for me. It should have everything a girl needs, she said. There’s even a desk, which is where I am sitting right now. When I moved the chair away from the desk, there were deep dents in the rug.

School was canceled here most of last week because of the snow. So I have only had one day in my new class. I have met the girl next door, though. Eleanor. She is a piece of work, as Papa would say.

From,

Isabelle

January 21, 1944

Dear Mama,

Happy Birthday! I know I heard your voice on the phone just this morning, but it wasn’t enough of a chat. I know you don’t have time to write but I hope you don’t mind getting letters anyhow. I’m glad you and Ian and Ida had pancakes today. Aunt Jaye made them here in honor of your birthday even though you couldn’t come. She and I made a cake yesterday. Then the snow started.

Mama, I even made a frosting sewing machine on the cake for you. Aunt Jaye and Uncle Bernard are good to me. I help out like you said, and I try to be grateful. But this house is so quiet. Even the streets are quieter. There is no streetcar. There’s only one filling station and I’ve only been by it, not inside. It is smaller than ours.

I went outside and started making a snow family this morning. I’m going youngest to oldest. I can see Snow Ida out the window and she is growing taller because it is still snowing.

Happy Birthday to You! Happy Birthday to You! Happy Birthday, Dear Mama! Happy Birthday to You!

Love,

Isabelle

January 22, 1944

Dear Papa,

Yesterday was a sad and happy day. Sad because Mama called to say she couldn’t come because there was too much snow. Happy because later, who should come banging on the door and stomping snow onto Aunt Jaye’s clean rug but Irma and Inez! Uncle Edgar’s truck made it through the snow from the farm. We had a big time. We finished the snow family in the backyard that I had started in the morning. We made you taller than Mama even though you weren’t really. Uncle Bernard gave us a hat for you and we used a big pickle for your nose! I waved up at the window of the girl next door (Eleanor). But I don’t think she saw us.

Then we went inside and ate up Mama’s whole birthday cake and played cards by the fire. Irma has a new hairdo. She looks like a college girl. Inez brought me a book to read.

They left a little bit ago. We plumb forgot to talk about a plan for getting back home. It’s too quiet now. I can hear U. B. turning the pages of his newspaper downstairs. I need to braid Ida’s hair or pester Inez or race Ian to the corner and back. Most of all I need Mama to wrap me up in her arms and kiss the top of my head.

Aunt Jaye is calling again. I would have gone the first time if it were Mama’s voice calling.

I.V.A.

Thursday

Dear Papa,

I got a letter from Jimmy Jordahl! It was all pictures with a note from Mrs. Jordahl saying Jimmy asked about me and that Mama is doing just fine and Ian and Ida go to her house sometimes to play. Jimmy draws really good. He drew two sides of a paper full of hockey players. I could tell what they were with no writing at all. I’m going to write back and draw something for Jimmy and ask about your station. I wonder if they’ve changed the name. I heard Stanley talking about it once with Mr. Jordahl. I think your faithful customers would be disappointed.

Bye!

Isabelle

Monday

Dear Papa,

I have been to school here for three weeks now. I have to walk to school with Eleanor. All she does is talk, talk, talk. Her daddy this, her daddy that. Her mother is the head of all the Red Cross activities for the greater Zumbrota area, including all the farms. Eleanor takes piano lessons and has given a recital that the mayor himself attended. I told her that my daddy was in oil but she didn’t believe me. She doesn’t believe much so I have started giving her some good stories to disbelieve. She’s reading
The Secret Garden
and I think that secretly she wishes she were an orphan like she thinks I am.

This afternoon when we walked home, Aunt Jaye was out on the front porch waving at us as we came up the street. She dashed down the walk and said that Eleanor’s mother was out so Eleanor should come in for a while. Oh, Papa. If it wasn’t bad enough that I had to listen to her all the way home, which was long, by the way, because people hadn’t shoveled their walks yet and we had to trudge through snow up past our boots, then to have to sit at the table and share cookies and milk with her. Ugh. Aunt Jaye was chatty for a change and asked Eleanor all kinds of questions, which made her talk even more. Then A. J. suggested I take Eleanor up to my room and find something to play. Eleanor had to be in charge of everything — what game we would play (Parcheesi), who would go first (Eleanor), whether blockades were allowed or not (only when Eleanor was blocking me, it seemed!). I thought her mother would never rescue me. Fortunately, I have really good luck at Parcheesi and Eleanor was very ready to leave when we heard the door open.