Dear Papa (3 page)

From,

Isabelle

February 15, 1944

Dear Aunt Izzy,

Thank you for the new bookmark. I am reading
The Secret Garden
and have marked the page I am on. I am glad you have written to Mama. I can’t wait until you come out this summer. What is “Crafty Ladies” that you said you go to on Wednesdays? If it is crafts like knitting, what do you make? If it is witchcraft, write right away because I can’t wait to tell Eleanor next door that I have an aunt that’s a witch! And if you are, does that mean that I might be, too?

I am sorry to hear about Muffin. Some trees are just too tall.

From,

Isabelle

February 16, 1944

Dear Papa,

We just ate dinner, Uncle Bernard and Aunt Jaye and me. The table is so big and it is all shiny with no fingerprints. They talk in quiet voices, and I know I should be grateful that they are helping out Mama this way. But I don’t want me not being home to be a help to Mama. Aunt Jaye likes to braid my hair and she bought me a new blue dress and she sits on my bed while I’m at my desk and waits for me to talk to her. But 1234 Palace is where I want to be.

From Zumbrota,

Isabelle

Dear Papa,

When I can’t go to sleep at night, I imagine I’m walking through our whole house. Inside the porch door are all sizes of coats on hooks and off of hooks and shoes in a jumble. Mama’s shoes always stand at attention at the left side of the door, the toes touching the wall.

“Teach me numbers!” Ida says to Ian.

“Mama, keep her away from my model airplane,” Ian wails.

“Way down upon the Swanee River . . .” Irma and Inez practice their songs for choir.

Creak, crack, creak, crack,
Mama’s rocking chair goes back and forth over that place where you glued the rockers back together. In my mind I imagine she is knitting a pink sweater for me and she’s dropping it on the floor and jumping up to hug me when I walk in the door. I put you in the pictures, too. The back door slams and Mama puts her hands on her hips. Then you come around the corner grinning big and wiping grease off your hands onto your pants before you pick me up and twirl me around.

Sometimes I wish I could go to sleep and wake up when I was seven and things were like they used to be.

In loving memory,

Isabelle

February 20, 1944

Dear Papa,

Mama and Ian and Ida are here today! Mama’s been saving the gas stamps from way back at her birthday. We are having what Uncle Bernard calls The Thaw. He says we get one every February. Irma and Inez are coming later. Charlie and Stuart picked up Mama and the kids in Stuart’s Ford and drove them here. Then they left to get the girls at Uncle Edgar’s. They aren’t either one good with maps because Mama had to be firm about where to turn to get here, she said, but I am sure they will return victorious.

Mama and Ian and Ida are all resting after the long drive, but I can’t sleep in the middle of the day.

Bye!

Is

February 21, 1944

Papa,

I know you probably thought this letter would come from Palace but it is not. I thought it would, too. In fact, I don’t think I’ll write to you tonight after all. If you had been here, you would have made sure I was in that car when it turned around for St. Paul. I shouldn’t talk to my own father like this but I’m mad at you for leaving us.

I. Valborg

P. S. I’m glad you named me after Aunt Izzy but couldn’t you have given me a beautiful middle name like Meredith or Betty?

February 23

Dear Papa,

I’m sorry I wasn’t nice in my last letter. I know you didn’t die on purpose. I wish you were here to send me to my room for back talk. Aunt Jaye and Uncle Bernard never punish me. They think everything I do is cute. I’m nine and more than a half for pity’s sake!

I want to tell you about Mama’s visit. It was so wonderful the first day. She hugged and hugged and hugged me. She did my hair and talked to me like she used to. She looked happy, Papa. Really. The girls came and the house was noisy and Ian and Ida and me made a big mess in my room with all the toys Aunt Jaye keeps in there. We ate sandwiches for lunch and played whist around the big table. I heard Mama laugh. Later we all went on a walk to the downtown of Zumbrota. Uncle Bernard opened up the bank even though it was a Saturday and gave us a tour. Charlie had to carry Ida most of the way, but he didn’t mind. Ian and Ida and I slept in my room and Mama sat in there until we were all asleep. I slept all night without one dream.

In the morning we all got spit and polished for church. We took up a whole pew. Afterward we had roast and potatoes and Mama was different again. The brightness in her eyes and voice was gone and she crabbed at Ian when he dropped a biscuit on the floor. Then she just got up and put on her coat to leave.

“Mama,” I said. “I want to come home.”

“Isabelle, don’t make this harder than it already is.”

“Mama,” I said again. “I want to come home!” And then I started bawling like a big baby. Mama didn’t come and wipe my tears off or ask me to quit crying. She just stood there like a woodcarving.

“Isabelle, pull yourself together,” Irma said.

“Irma!” Inez said, and she came and tried to wipe off my tears but that made them come faster.

“Girls, don’t fight,” Mama said in a bigger voice than I’ve heard her use in a long time. She got up and hugged each of us, but it was like an uncle hug, not a mother hug. Then she went out to the car and Irma buttoned up Ida and Ian and they all piled on laps and left.

Since Mama is working all the time, the girls are away, and you’re dead, it looks like it’s up to me to solve the problem. Mama will be so proud.

Love,

Isabelle

March 1, 1944

Dear Aunt Izzy,

I am anxiously awaiting your reply about Crafty Ladies. I have enclosed an envelope with my address and a stamp on it. Good news: I am going to go home and so are Inez and Irma to finish out their senior year. Bad news: I don’t know how, yet. But I am working on it. Here’s what we know so far:

1. Mama needs time and money.

2. Uncle Bernard and Aunt Jaye need someone to take care of.

3. Uncle Edgar needs help on the farm.

4. Isabelle and Irma and Inez need to go home.

Here’s what I’ve done so far:

1. Wrote a list.

2. Started a prayer chain. They have them at the church here. It is not a paper chain, but a people chain from what I gather. Pastor Porter says God answers every single prayer, just ask. I don’t know a lot of people here to put on the chain, but I called Eleanor over. It was the best I could do. I set her to work praying for the things on the list. “When you get to the end of the list, just start over at number one and do it again,” I told her.

“If I’m going to pray, I need atmosphere,” she said.

She ran over to her house and came back with a Bible, a candle, and a lace hanky and set them up in a corner of my room. It looks pretty Catholic to me, but at least she’s praying.

I’ll let you know what happens.

Isabelle

March 8, 1944

Dear Aunt Izzy,

I’ve added some things to the plan.

3. Adopted bad habits. Aunt Jaye has lots of advice for me. One thing she says is, “Good people, good habits. Bad people, bad habits. Surround yourself with good people, Isabelle, and you will adopt good habits. Take Eleanor for example,” and then she is off and running. Well, I can’t help being around Eleanor, but if I have bad habits, Aunt Jaye will not want to have me here, I am sure of it. So I have worked on learning to burp like Papa did after dinner sometimes when Mama was out of the room. I put my elbows on the table, chew with my mouth open, and slouch. Tomorrow I am going to say “darn.” I couldn’t think of any other bad habits but I am studying the kids at school, particularly LeRoy Pence, as he has no manners at all.

4. Here is where you come in. If you know of any spells that could help with any of the above situations, please send detailed instructions.

Your crafty niece,

Isabelle

March 10, 1944

Dear Papa,

I am hoping that if I adopt bad habits, Aunt Jaye will give up on me and send me home. Being bad is turning out to be not so hard as I thought it would be. And I’m wondering, Papa, am I bad? Is that why Mama doesn’t want me? Was I very bad when you were here?

Here’s what I did today: Aunt Jaye made me oatmeal for breakfast, which was really very nice because it was cold this morning. But as you may not know, because of the war even rich people can’t buy all the sugar they want. So there was no sugar for my oatmeal. I said, “I’m not going to eat this darn mush without sugar! It’s sour like everything else at this darn funeral home.” It just popped right out of my mouth like I’d been saying it every day. Uncle Bernard dropped his spoon and got oatmeal on his tie and he said, “Damn!”

Oh, my. I thought Aunt Jaye was going to faint or choke on her own breath. My eyes got all wet like they were going to cry but I remembered Mama and stuck to my plan. I swished my hair back like I saw Eleanor do before she back-talked her mother and just walked away from the table. I stomped on the stairs and slammed my door. All this in less than five minutes. The trouble was that when I got to my room, I didn’t feel like I was acting anymore. I unmade my bed and took yesterday’s clothes back out of the wardrobe and threw them on the floor.

Pretty soon there was a big rap on the door.

“Young lady, there is no excuse for your behavior. You go downstairs and apologize to your Aunt Jaye this minute. I want a good report when I get back from the bank.” Uncle Bernard didn’t open the door, but I heard him breathing his loud fat man’s breathing out there on the landing for a whole minute before he left. After I heard him leave the house, I did go downstairs. Aunt Jaye was still standing at the sink holding the dishtowel. I said, “I’m sorry I complained about the bad food.” She didn’t even look at me. I put on my coat and boots and left for school a half-hour early and without Eleanor.

Miss Jensen, my new teacher, let me come in and sit at my desk. I was going to give up on the being bad idea, but then LeRoy Pence pulled my hair on his way into the classroom and Sue Joan Warick asked why I didn’t have a mother or father, and I hit her. I really did, Papa. What kind of example will I be for Ian and Ida if I do go home?

With a contrite heart,

Isabelle

March 11, 1944

Dear Papa,

It is Saturday and I am supposed to stay in my room all day because of yesterday. Uncle Bernard and Aunt Jaye, not having much experience with bad children, are not sure what to do with me. I heard them arguing about it last night. Aunt Jaye called Eleanor’s mother and this is the punishment she recommended. What they don’t know is that this isn’t punishment at all. In my room alone I don’t have to try to be good or bad. I have my whole day planned out. I am going to write to you and Jimmy Jordahl and Aunt Izzy. I won’t write to Ida and Ian until I know I can be a good example. Then I am going to pretend I am an orphan and this is the turret at the top of the abandoned castle where they keep orphans. I will rearrange the furniture and draw pictures to hang on the walls. I will spy on Eleanor out my window. Plus, I have the rest of
The Secret Garden
to read. Mary’s parents didn’t love her and they died. I wonder if she will get happy in the end.

I’ll probably write later, since I have all day.

From,

Isabelle

March 11, 1944

Dear Jimmy,

How are you? What is new? Could you please draw me some more pictures? I will hang them on the wall in my room. I have to stay in here all day. What do you do all day at home? I have never seen you go anywhere except the station. Did you ever go to school? Say hi to Stanley at the station for me.

Here are some pictures of the people and places in Zumbrota. Hopscotch is popular here, too.

Your friend and former neighbor,

Isabelle

March 11, 1944

Dear Aunt Izzy,

Your letter arrived today! It made me so happy because I am being punished today and cannot leave my room. Aunt Jaye brought your letter up with my lunch. I was disappointed to read that Crafty Ladies is crafts after all. I’m sure the soldiers appreciate the scarves you knit, though. No, I don’t know how to knit. I have enough time for handwork, I guess. I have been saving toothpaste tubes for the war effort. Do you get the comic
Little Orphan Annie
? Annie says kids can help the war by collecting scrap metal.

Remember the plan I sent you? It is not going too well. The bad habits part kind of took off. I am not sure how to stop. Now instead of Aunt Jaye giving up on me and sending me home, she seems almost happy. She is walking around the house faster and talking in a firmer voice than usual.

“Isabelle,” she said, “you’ve been allowed to be too free here. Children need a purpose and it is my job as your current guardian to give you one.” She went on,
blah blah blah,
about the projects we’ll get involved in at church and the chores I will take over at the house. I’m afraid I stuck out my tongue at her when she bent down to pick up some lint off the floor.

Every day I pray, “Dear Father in Heaven, thank you for this day. Please take me home to my mother.” Maybe I should have had more people on the prayer chain. Maybe God hasn’t checked the prayers in Zumbrota lately. He’d get more prayers per block by going to St. Paul where there are churches on every other corner and there are houses on both sides of the river. I wonder if Jimmy prays. He’s got the time for sure.

Isabelle

March 11, 1944

Dear Mama,

How are you? I am fine. I am reading the Bible today like you said in your note I should, and catching up on my letter writing. Did you know that Jesus left his parents for a while? They thought he was bad because they couldn’t find him. But when they did find him, they discovered that he had been talking with people at the church, which is a good thing. So his parents took him home.