Dear Papa Read online

  September 29, 1943

  Dear Papa,

  Today in school we are learning proper letter-writing form. We are supposed to write to someone we haven’t seen in a long time. Tomorrow it will be one year since you went to heaven, so I picked you. Notice that each new idea gets indented for a new paragraph.

  A lot has changed on Palace. The Christiansons moved and the new family doesn’t have any children of their own really, but they have a big man that plays hopscotch on the sidewalk. He thinks he’s six but I know he’s not.

  The awning blew off the south window in a storm last summer and Mama said if you aren’t coming back to fix it, well, we just don’t need that awning. So I guess the sofa will fade.

  Now we end with a salutation. I don’t know what to write on the envelope. Miss Lockey gave us each a stamp. I’ll use Aunt Izzy’s address. I know she was your favorite sister.

  Sincerely,

  Isabelle

  October 15, 1943

  Dear Papa,

  Boy, was Aunt Izzy surprised to get your letter. But she didn’t tell Mama and I think she’s my favorite of your sisters, too. She wrote back and said I can send a letter to you anytime, but I only had the one stamp and we’ve moved on to writing poems in school.

  Mama bought me another notebook but said no more writing after 8 P.M. That’s when I have the best ideas, I told her. I am a night owl, like you.

  I don’t have an envelope so I will put this in my Bible since that’s the nearest address to heaven I can think of.

  From,

  Isabelle

  October 24, 1943

  Dear Papa,

  Remember the people in Christiansons’ house, with the man who plays hopscotch? Their name is Jordahl and you wouldn’t know it from their name but they are Catholic! And what is more, they bought your filling station! The day after my last letter, Mama was crying for you. She went through three hankies with the five of us plus Irma’s boyfriend watching. All in a sudden, she stopped, stood up, and declared that enough was enough. It was time to get on with things. She called up Mr. Jordahl because he’s been asking what Mama’s going to do about the station, as it hasn’t been run very well without you. And she said, fine, Mr. Jordahl, you can buy that station and take over as soon as you can.

  Now where will I get my ice cream? Stanley, who’s been running everything, always let me pick something out of the case, but I don’t think I can ask a Catholic man for ice cream just because it used to be my father’s station and I used to help out scrubbing the counter and straightening the shelves. In addition to that, the boy-man helps out Mr. Jordahl. If you ask me, I think he will scare off the customers with his hopscotching in the parking lot, but you didn’t ask me. I miss you asking me, Papa. Things like, How was your day, lollipop? And, Where’s the fire, chief? And now I forgot to indent. It will be a wonder if I can pass one more grade without a father.

  With fondest regards,

  Isabelle, age nine

  October 31, 1943

  Dear Papa,

  It is Halloween. I am dressing up as you! I found your old coveralls with the NILS patch and I stitched up the legs with a needle and thread. Now let Irma say I’m hopeless with sewing! I’m going to say “fill ’er up” instead of “trick or treat”! What do you think of that? Irma and Inez have to stay here and answer the door and Mama is walking around the block with us younger ones.

  Back to Palace and things that have changed. Charlie the cat ran away and now that makes no more pets: three dead fish, one run-over dog, and two runaway cats.

  Boo-hoo!

  Isabelle

  November 12, 1943

  Dear Papa,

  Mama got a job! I hope you don’t turn over in your grave like she says. We all tried to eat a little less but that doesn’t pay the electric bill, she says. It was expensive for you to go to the hospital, and then to be buried besides really added up. (Not that we blame you!) Mama is working at five different houses, one every day except Saturday and Sunday. She cleans each house all in a day. Little Ida goes with her. In the evenings she figures the books for Mr. Jordahl. I think she’s tired.

  Remember when she was tired that other time, after Ida was born and you just put us all in the back of your truck and drove around all day so she could rest? We went across every bridge in the city, just to count them. I was afraid one of us, especially me, would bump out and into the Mighty Mississippi.

  Inez has a boyfriend now, too. His name is Charlie (like the cat!). He is very handsome and helped Mama put the awning back up. He’s handy with things. Irma’s boyfriend (remember Stuart?) joined the service and is trying to talk Charlie into joining, too. Inez and Irma are very proud. Little Ida isn’t so little anymore. She doesn’t remember you much, I’m sorry to say. Ian is just plain mad to be left with us females. We don’t roughhouse like you did. Charlie and Stuart knock him about for play, though.

  Mama has me bring the books to Mr. Jordahl at the station and who is still there helping out but Stanley! I do get an ice cream after all. But I’d rather have you there chinging the register and not have any ice cream at all.

  Fondly,

  Isabelle

  November 22, 1943

  Dear Papa,

  You wouldn’t know Mama now, I think. Even if you did come back, which I guess you won’t. Her smiles are gone and there’s no time for holding little Ida on her lap. Mama’s voice isn’t cinnamon brown anymore. It is sharp red or tired gray. I wrote a story for school yesterday called “The Inventor of Colors.” You were the inventor, Papa.

  Do you get to sleep in heaven and if so do you have dreams and if so do you dream about us like we dream about you? Last night I dreamed you made me toast. But it burned up like the time you made breakfast for Mama on her birthday.

  This week is Thanksgiving. Irma and Inez want to make the whole meal to impress the you-know-whos. (They want Mama to invite over their families.)

  Your pumpkin pie,

  Isabelle

  Dear Papa,

  It is Thanksgiving Day and Mama won’t get out of bed! We none of us know what to do. She got up last Thanksgiving, which wasn’t so long after your funeral. We had turkey then and everyone had something to report being thankful for. But this morning when I went downstairs, the teakettle was cold. Mama and I always are the first ones in the kitchen in the morning. She warms the kettle and I talk, which she says is how she gets her dose of daily news. Well, not only was the kettle cold, but Irma and Inez were in the kitchen arguing about whose crust is the flakiest. Charlie and Stuart can’t come for dinner, but they are coming for pie. “Where’s Mama?” I asked. “Not down here,” Irma said.

  I went up to Mama’s and your room. She was breathing, thanks be to God. But she was way down under the covers and rolled over away from me when I came to sit on the bed. She had a picture of you in her hand. “He sure was handsome,” I said, and she started crying! Our Mama crying! Can you imagine? “I’m lonely for him, too, Mama.” I said. Sob sob sob and more sobbing. “Mama, he was handsome, but he’s dead,” I said. Then she rolled over. “Isabelle,” she said, “your sisters know how to get the bird in the oven. Go help them. I’m so tired.”

  I went down and told the girls about Mama and the turkey. They both went tripping up the stairs even though I said she wanted to rest.

  So now you are up to date. Uncle Bernard always tells me I need to be a soldier. To be strong for Mama. But I can’t lift that turkey by myself.

  Your girl,

  Isabelle

  Thanksgiving, later

  Dear Papa,

  Here we are at the other end of the day. I am thankful because Mama did get out of bed and the crust was flaky and the boys did come over. Here is what happened: Irma and Inez went to Mama. They were in there fo
r a long time. I heard Ida and Ian upstairs hollering so I went up and we cut out paper dolls with a daddy one for Ian. He’ll only play if we make some boy ones. I sat real close to the wall trying to hear what was going on with Mama but I couldn’t. Finally, Irma and Inez came in and said we should get dressed. We did. Then they said we should eat oatmeal. We did. Then they said we should go outside and play. We did, but it was pea-pickin’ cold. And what is the use of cold if there isn’t any snow?

  We went by Christiansons’ where the Jordahls live. That boy-man was looking at us from the upstairs window. Ida waved and he smiled and then he was gone. Pretty soon he came out the front door! He hopped down his front walk in three big hops. He stopped at the end and waved both hands like fluttering birds up by his ears. Ida giggled and I poked her. I don’t think we should laugh at him. “What’s your name?” I asked him. “Jimmy Jimmy Jimmy,” he said. “Want to hop some scotch?” Well, we did. And wouldn’t you know Jimmy won? He must have had a lot of practice because he is really good. But he didn’t like waiting for his turn. We ended up making two hopscotch plans so he could use one and we could use the other.

  Mrs. Jordahl came out and asked us if we wanted to come in. I wonder if she knows we’re Lutheran. Anyhow, we did go in. Catholics have Thanksgiving, too, so their house smelled really good. Turns out the Jordahls moved here from Wisconsin and they didn’t have anyone coming for dinner. A whole turkey just for the three of them. Mrs. Jordahl asked about our plans. I said I thought we’d be doing Thanksgiving tomorrow, when Mama gets up. She took out the biggest jar of cookies you ever saw and sat us down at the table with Jimmy, and then swept herself right out of the house. We didn’t know where she went. After cookies, Jimmy showed us all the rooms. He talks loud. We pretended to be interested even though we’d been there about every other day when Christiansons lived there.

  When Mrs. Jordahl came back, she said she’d been to our house and that Mama had invited them for dinner! Mrs. Jordahl called to Mr. Jordahl, who lifted the turkey out of the oven still pink, and we all walked in a parade to our house behind a half-done turkey!

  Mama had a dress on when we got there and an apron. She and Inez and Irma and Mrs. Jordahl bumped around each other in the kitchen, getting things done.

  Mr. Jordahl sat in your chair and everyone told about a Thanksgiving they remembered. Mama told about you coming out to the farm when you and she were courting. Then she let me have seconds on pie.

  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 b
eaded 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.