Dear Papa (7 page)

Love,

Isabelle

P. S. Mama moved her things from her room. Now she is all the way down two hallways and up the stairs. She put her clothes in the closet in Mr. Frank’s room. There is only one bed. I looked in her drawers for her picture of Papa but couldn’t find it, even in her underwear drawer.

June 10, 1944

Dear Eleanor,

Happy summer vacation! Remember the new house I told you about? Well, I need some help. Now I am going to be meeting some important people, like the ones that used to come to your house. Not a mayor, but a nun at least and who knows what all else in the future. I’m not so much worried about myself, but about my younger brother and sister. They have no showy talents like your piano playing to entertain people. Do you have to talk to the people or do you just go play and is there a kids’ table for meals?

Let me know. Maybe I can visit you in Zumbrota this summer. I’ll wait for an invitation, though.

From,

Isabelle

June 13, 1944

Dear Papa,

Don’t go looking Mama up in the phone book. You won’t find her on the Anderson page. I saw her sign her name today! It is Sophie Colletti!

“Well, my dear, that’s how it’s done when you get married,” Mama told me. “Would you like it if we changed your name as well, and Ian and Ida’s, too?” She smiled and stroked my hair but it felt like she hit me instead.

From,

Isabelle Anderson

June 16, 1944

Dear Papa,

In two days we are going to meet Mr. Frank’s family in St. Cloud. It will be a picnic like we had in Zumbrota that time. I have a new sailor dress for the occasion. It matches Ida’s and Inez’s. Ian’s clothes are matching too except they’re boys’. Mr. Frank’s family will think he got himself a set of children out of the Sears catalog.

I have finished enough pages of the book about you that the fastener won’t close. One chapter is all the jokes you told that I could remember. The mouse in the pumpkin one is still my favorite. I haven’t even gotten to the “Death and Funeral” chapter. The book will have to have two volumes or longer fasteners. I am going to bring the book to St. Cloud. Eleanor says it is important to not talk too much among large groups of adults. She says it would be good to sit and read a book if one is tempted toward idle chatter. There may be a lot of children, too, but I will have my book in case no one wants to play with Stepchildren.

Mama has a nice dress for the outing, too. She sewed it herself. You would be very proud. “My lovely bride,” you would say and twirl her around the kitchen. And she would say, “Heavens, Nils! The children!” and would pull away but she would have a smile on her face.

I’ll write a report for you when we return.

Your daughter,

Isabelle

June 18, 1944

Dear Papa,

Happy Father’s Day. Mama made us make cards for Mr. Frank today while he was at Mass (that’s what they call a Catholic service). I wrote “Dear Sir, Thank you for the room and board. The paper, too. Sincerely, Isabelle Anderson.”

Then I took an extra sheet and made a picture for you (enclosed). I made pictures of all the earth things you might be missing in heaven. Notice the cigar. I won’t show Mama, just like I didn’t used to tell.

I’d write more but have to show myself downstairs in this stiff dress. I must deliver my card, and then we are off to meet Them.

Love and hugs and kisses!

Isabelle

June 18, 1944

Dear Aunt Izzy,

They do have ears (nuns)! I’m not supposed to tell, but I will slip it just to you: Sister Carmelita plays cards! And once she swore (under her breath) and she burped in church. I can see why some people want to be Catholic if they have nuns like this one to talk to. But there are hard parts to nunning. They cannot eat except at the convent (that’s the house where they all live together. Imagine. How do they tell each other apart? “Hey, you with the long dress, pass the bread.” And they all reach for the bread. Ha-ha-ha-ha!) They cannot just leave the church whenever they want. Sister Carmelita had to get special “dispensation” (that’s like permission when it comes from the Big Mother or someone like that at the house). And she had to bring another nun with her, even though she’s just seeing her family. Sister Mary Margaret is very old. I don’t think she does have ears under her scarf. She said “Amen” a lot. Sister Carmelita works at St. Joseph’s Orphan Home on Randolph. She is much stricter there than at family gatherings, she said. That’s where we were today. At Mr. Frank’s family gathering.

If you would like to know more about all of this and me, please come out here and hear it in person. Mama’s family doesn’t come around because of the not approving of The Marriage, and you are all we have of Papa’s family. If things go on like they did today, we will be swept clean into Mr. Frank’s family and will not be Andersons at all.

Goodbye until I see you,

Isabelle Valborg Anderson

June 19, 1944

Dear Papa,

Here is an account of our trip to St. Cloud:

All of us kids were polite, even Ian.

Everyone was pleased to meet us, even the nun (even after I told her we are Lutheran. “You may want to keep that subject quiet today, child,” she said).

The food was fine.

There are 40 nieces and nephews! Some are grown-up and the youngest one is two. I couldn’t say how many were actually there because people moved around too much for me to get an accurate count. It was all civilians, though. I didn’t see any uniforms. But they have 14 blue stars in the family and seven gold ones. That is two-thirds of their soldiers alive and one-third dead.

I did not get chummy with the other children, as they are not
cousins
like Mr. Frank says they are. Instead, I sat next to Mama at the meal, then with the nun afterward. I showed her the entire book about you. I’m sure she will pass word along to the rest of Mr. Frank’s family that we already have a father, and his memory is papa enough for us. The nun (Sister Carmelita) kept the book for me when Mr. Frank asked me to help with croquet. I have unusual ability, he says.

One of the nieces said Mr. Frank is her favorite uncle. You must be very curious about this man who has taken your family. So I found that niece later and asked a few questions about him. He is fifty years old, which is ten years older than Mama is. He has always had a withered hand. She said the cousins used to call him “Uncle Born-That-Way” instead of “Uncle Frank,” behind his back, of course. When he heard them once, they were scared he’d be mad. But instead he let them all measure their own long arms against his shorter one and shake his hand. He is a doctor but does not have patients. He is in charge of the hospital, which is why he has the big house. She (the niece) said that her grandparents are nearly as proud of Mr. Frank as they are of the son that is the priest. Her father is a mechanic but is off at the war so they are finally proud of him, too.

Some of the relatives tried to hug us when we left. When I saw them start in on Ida, I went to the bathroom. But I didn’t stay long enough and three of them got me when I came out. I don’t think they fully understand that they should not be so happy about this. If it were okay for Lutherans to marry Catholics and for a man like Mr. Frank to marry his cleaning lady with five children, then Uncle Bernard and Uncle Edgar would be inviting us all out, too. Maybe the nun filled them all in after we left.

From,

Isabelle Anderson

June 21, 1944

Dear Papa,

Today Mama said she was dishrag weary, which is funny because she hasn’t been tired in a long time.

“How would you kids like to see a hospital?” Mr. Frank asked.

“No, thank you,” I said. “I’ve been.”

“You haven’t been to this one,” Mama said. In addition, Ian and Ida really wanted to go. Inez is helping out at the hospital all summer as a volunteer so she had no choice either and we all piled in the car and left Mama alone with the cleaning lady.

Mr. Frank knows everyone there. The doctors, the nurses, even some of the patients. He has a big office. He has a secretary named Janet outside his office who gave us juice.

Mr. Frank dragged us all over the building. Ida wanted to see the babies and Ian wanted to see blood. Mr. Frank had me recite the sea poem to several people we met along the way (the one you taught me: “I must go down to the sea again,” and so on and so forth). He had Ian walk on his hands (right in the hallway!) and Ida pirouette. He clapped every time. He must not get much in the way of entertainment. Finally he took us home. Mama had finished a nap and made us lunch and we had to report all the details. I’ll tell you this. I am not going to be a nurse when I grow up.

Isabelle

June 23, 1944

Dear Papa,

It’s 95 degrees. Mama’s wilting. I bring her cold water while she sits under the oak tree in the backyard. It is a big yard and lined with thick bushes so we can’t see the neighbors. While Mama rests, I take Ian and Ida on adventures. The bushes are hollow in the middle. We crawl in and look at the neighbors’ yards. We take a snack wrapped up in a hanky. We have explored the whole yard and at night Mama says she is proud of me for helping her keep things calm. I don’t think she’ll send me away again. I also make her cold cloths to put on her forehead and I read to her in the late afternoon, when it is the hottest. Mr. Frank frets over Mama. She lost a husband and a house and has all of us to be concerned with, I told him; she’s bound to be tired.

Good night, Papa!

Isabelle Anderson

P. S. Here is my new prayer. I am going to teach it to Ida and Ian when Mama’s not up to putting them to bed.

June 26, 1944

Dear Papa,

Someone moved into 1234 Palace! I heard Mr. Frank and Mama talking about it. I’m going there today to see for myself.

Isabelle

June 26, later

It is a family. Only a mother, though, just like us. The father was killed in the war and they all moved here from Chicago to be closer to their grandma and grandpa. They are Catholic and have a statue of the Blessed Virgin in the front garden. There are five kids just like us. But none of them as old as the twins. That mother has her basket full! I wonder if she gets as tired as Mama does.

Inez and Ian and Ida and me went there today while Mama rested. We pulled Ida in the wagon. First we went and picked up Jimmy. Mrs. Jordahl hugged us and fed us lunch even though we’d already eaten. We filled her in on everything happening on River Boulevard. I told her to be happy on Palace even though the houses are smaller here. Jimmy would not like River Boulevard. The sidewalks are so far down the lawn from the houses. She gave us a bunch of rhubarb from her garden to bring down to 1234. The mother was putting laundry on the line and two of the girls were hanging upside down by their knees from the laundry poles.

“Why didn’t we ever try that when we lived here?” I said, and they jumped down and let us try. It brought my oatmeal to my throat and my dress to my waist so now I know. The kids were scared of Jimmy. We showed them how he can hopscotch. I said the main thing is not to laugh at him. Just pretend he is large for his age.

They said we could go in the house and look around but we didn’t. There were boxes all over and none of the stuff coming out of them looked like our stuff. There’s a gold star in the window for their father.

“Come over again,” they said, and maybe we will.

Jimmy cried when we left Palace.

So there you go.

Isabelle Anderson

June 30, 1944

Dear Papa,

You will never guess who’s here! Give up? Well, we were relaxing ourselves in the living room with the shades pulled this afternoon, as it is hot hot hot. Then comes the doorbell. “Who could that be?” says Mama, stretching her legs out in front of her, then curling them back up on her chair. The bell rings again. “Isabelle, would you get it?” I race through the hall to the front door. The lady standing there is just as tall as me. She’s selling something I think because she has a big bag and looks all sweaty like she’s been walking a ways. She doesn’t look tidy like one of Mr. Frank’s friends.

I look at her through the screen trying to think how Mama gets rid of people at the door. When I’m going to give up thinking and just close the door, she says, “Isabelle, is that you?”

And of course it is me.

“Well, Miss Isabelle Valborg, I finally took your advice and here I am. Aren’t you going to let your Aunt Izzy in?”

That’s right, Papa! Your sister is here in this very house.

I jumped right out on that front step and hugged her hard. Once for you and once for me. I pulled her bag into the hall and it yowled! “Heavens, I forgot!” Aunt Izzy cried and unzipped the zipper and out leaped a skinny striped cat. It went streaking up the stairs and we haven’t found it yet.

“Mama didn’t tell me you were coming,” I said.

“I didn’t tell her,” Aunt Izzy said.

“Man, oh man, oh man,” I said, and we went to the living room.

“Isabelle?” Mama said.

“Yes?” Aunt Izzy and I said together. (Ha-ha-ha-ha.)

“Izzy, is that you?” Mama said. She stood up.

Papa, I wish I could tell you that Mama went over and gave Aunt Izzy a hug, too, but she didn’t. After the “Well, I never!” she and A. I. started in on a whole list of who said and who did and so on. All about when you were in the hospital. It made my stomach hurt.

So, the tall and short of it is that Aunt Izzy is staying with us tonight. The grownups are downstairs talking now and I sat on the top step and tried to hear, but they were too quiet.

I am going to find that cat.

More when it happens,

Isabelle Anderson

P. S. She brought her ration stamps plus a whole bag of sugar! I’m almost for sure that we will have cake tomorrow!

P. P. S. She brought her roller skates, too! She must be over thirty years old and she roller-skates!