Dear Papa Read online

  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.

  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 slee
p 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 g
ive 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,