Dear Papa

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 for 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.