Dear Papa Read online

  We need to do something about Mama. It is not right that she is living here in sin. We could live on Palace and she could drive to Mississippi River Boulevard. Inez isn’t so sure. We have to let Mama be the mother, she says. (Who changed her from melody to harmony, I’d like to know!) Ian and Ida are too little, and since you didn’t come home, the least you could do is help out.

  Please come to dinner this Sunday at 1:00. Inez and I are going to cook. Uncle Edgar is invited, too, of course. Aunt Jaye and Uncle Bernard will be here. Maybe you could ride together. It is a surprise for Mama.

  We’ll plan on seeing you unless you write to me first.

  Your sister,

  Isabelle

  May 21, 1944

  Dear Papa,

  Inez and I made dinner today.

  Irma and Aunt Jaye and the uncles were here, too. That part was a surprise for Mama. Mr. Frank is a doctor so he was working. Can’t close the hospital like you can (could) the station, I guess. The food turned out good, but there are quite a few leftovers.

  Having her brothers here was not such a good surprise for Mama after all. Bernard raised his voice, Edgar stuttered, Mama used a bad word, and Aunt Jaye cried and cried and hugged and hugged me. Irma rolled her eyes and said to Inez, “See why I don’t come back?” Then she said something disrespectful about Mama, and Inez slapped her face! Ida wailed for Papa Frank, and Ian just walked out the door and I didn’t find him in the tree until almost dark. Would we have been a disappointment to you, if you had been here today?

  Inez and I cleaned up the whole dinner. She is thinking about going to college or signing up for training to be a war nurse. She will graduate in a week. Irma will, too, but from a different school.

  Love,

  Isabelle

  May 22, 1944

  Dear Aunt Izzy,

  Mama is selling our Palace house.

  I am afraid it is my fault. Inez’s and mine. We should not have invited the uncles for dinner last weekend without telling Mama. What will happen if Mama loses her cleaning job here?

  Please think about coming back to your roots. The house is real nice and you and Mrs. Jordahl would be friends, I’m sure.

  Mrs. Winthrop back on Palace has a job in the factory that used to make Fords and now makes guns and tanks for the war. Lots of ladies are working there.

  You could call here and reverse the charges if you like. Mama has Irma do that every Sunday.

  Do you need ration stamps to feed your cat? We’re always running low on meat stamps and Mama says Ian and me have hollow legs. When you come, bring your ration stamps.

  From,

  Isabelle

  May 29, 1944

  Dear Aunt Izzy,

  Has something happened to you?

  Maybe you are sick.

  Maybe you have moved.

  Maybe you have finally gotten married.

  (Why aren’t you married?)

  If you read this letter, please respond.

  Mr. Frank hired a cleaning lady.

  She cleans our part of the house, too!

  Mama is wearing makeup and is not cleaning.

  1234 is still for sale.

  Isabelle

  June 3, 1944

  Dear Papa,

  Mama is married.

  Of course it is Mr. Frank that Mama is married to. (Or it is Mr. Frank to whom Mother is married.) It happened way back in March while I sat in my room in Zumbrota worrying about my Mama. Because of the mixed marriage, they didn’t say anything. They married in secret at a courthouse. But after the disaster with her brothers, Mama declared that she was a grown woman and deserved her happiness. I wonder if it was Mr. Frank that made Mama stop feeling tired. She says she was worried about my detentions at school for defending her and that her being married to a man outside the Church was not as bad as being accused of living in sin.

  Mr. Frank and Mama sat us all down after supper tonight and told us. Mr. Frank went on about what a great man you had been and how you would always be our true papa, but that he would like us to come to love him, too. And how our mother makes him so happy and we will all be a happy family. It was worse than the gushy movie we saw at the Nile last weekend.

  After that Mama got on the phone and called Irma and told her. Then she called up Uncle Bernard and told him.

  Don’t worry, Papa. I am still your girl. I didn’t let Mr. Frank hug me. I didn’t call him Papa Frank, except one time when it slipped out during croquet when I won and was too excited to think clearly.

  My head is in a spin. Inez and me are going for a walk.

  Your very own girl,

  Isabelle

  June 4, 1944

  Dear Papa,

  Inez told me I am being a brat. She is glad that at least Mama is talking and cheerful and doesn’t have to work. Inez is happy that Mr. Frank is going to send her to college. She says I am ungrateful.

  Do you think I am being ungrateful, Papa?

  Love,

  Isabelle

  June 5, 1944

  Dear Papa,

  They got married in a courthouse, but now I find out they had a CATHOLIC PRIEST bless their marriage! That way he can still go to church, Mr. Frank says. I asked Mama what priests act like and do they speak English and is the inside of the church anything like the Lutherans’ (Catholic churches always look better from the outside, if you ask me) and she said she’d just have to take me there so I could see for myself. That was not what I meant! I think I will have the flu on Sunday.

  Don’t worry, Mama is still Lutheran.

  Your nearly feverish girl,

  Isabelle

  June 6, 1944

  Dear Aunt Izzy,

  Thank you for writing to me at last. I know that you are happy living the way you are and thank you for the list of what is polite to ask and not polite to ask. I was just curious is all, though now that you mention it I can’t stop wondering what you weigh, even though that was on the don’t-ask list. You were not as big as the other adults when I saw you, I think. But I was only four then and it could be that I remember it that way because you sat with me on the step. I weighed 65 pounds at the start of last term. They took my height and weight at the school in Zumbrota. I wonder if I will be tall like Mama or small like Papa. Right now I am in the middle.

  I am afraid your letter to Mama was too late. If she has not already written you back, here is the news: Mama married Mr. Frank. That is why the new cleaning lady. As the wife of Dr. Frank Colletti, she no longer cleans except to pick up after us now and then.

  I know you will be disappointed to receive this news. I am, too. But at least Mama’s spirits are better.

  Poor Papa.

  From,

  Isabelle

  June 9, 1944

  Dear Papa,

  I am a Stepdaughter. What a dumb word. There is not one other stepdaughter in my class. I’ll bet there isn’t one in all of Zumbrota or in Miss Lockey’s class either.

  “Hello, have you met my wife, Sophie?” Mr. Frank says. “And these are my stepdaughters Ida, Isabelle, and Inez and my stepson, Ian.” He could just as well say, “Hello, this is the wife and family I have stolen.” Inez says it makes us more interesting. She wants to call Mr. Frank “Spapa” (short for step-papa) because people will notice and think she is mysterious. She has broken up with Charlie long-distance. How do you break up with a soldier? I was set on her marrying Charlie so he’d be my big brother. Her outlook has changed with college coming on in just three months. At least then I’ll have my own room again.

  Love from Your Daughter,

  Isabelle

  June 9, 1944

  Dear Charlie,

  Don’t mind the letter you got from Inez. I know Inez pretty good, and I have seen how much she changes her mind. We are living on a new high-class street and the adjustment has gone to her head. She thinks she needs new friends to go along with the college life she is about to enter. Just keep writing to her so she doesn’t forget you. I haven’t forgotten the
fun we all had with you around. She will remember, too.

  Look out for those bullets!

  Your friend,

  Isabelle

  June 10, 1944

  Dear Aunt Izzy,

  Now that the marriage is out in the open, we are going to meet Mr. Frank’s family in St. Cloud. There is a mother and a father and four sisters and three brothers and more nieces and nephews than Mr. Frank can count. Aside from the sister that is a nun and the brother that is a priest, Mr. Frank is the last one to marry. I was going to offer to stay at Jordahls’ while they were gone and teach Jimmy some letters and numbers, but then I might miss the nun. I have never seen one up close. I’m going to ask her if she has ears under the drape they wear on their heads. I did not see that on your list of things not to ask.

  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 wer
e 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.