Authors: Anne Ylvisaker
Please don’t call my mother. I want to surprise her. Maybe you can come for a visit soon. Mama will make a pie.
Your niece,
Isabelle
P. S. There is a note for Eleanor on my desk. Would you please give it to her? I stitched up a towel for her birthday. Not as good as something from the catalog, and I hope you don’t mind me taking one from your supply, and thread, too, but could you wrap it and bring it over with the note? I don’t want her to open it at the party but beforehand. Another thank you.
April 7, 1944
Dear Eleanor,
Happy Birthday in advance.
Happy Easter, too.
I will not be able to make it to your party, and don’t wait for me to walk to school next week. Guess where I am? I’ll tell you: By the time you read this I will be home in St. Paul with my little brother and sister and my mother. I will be back in school next week in Miss Lockey’s class.
Even though we got off to a bad start and a bad middle, too, you are a good friend. You set up that corner to pray and gave me your dry sock and wore my wet sock when my boot came off in the snow on the way to school.
I hope you can visit me sometime. I live at 1234 Palace. I’ll show you the filling station my papa used to own. If you come in August, we could go to the fair.
Your city friend,
Isabelle
P. S. Could you please say goodbye to Miss Jensen for me? I liked it when she read out loud to us. And don’t mind LeRoy Pence so much. He doesn’t have a father now.
The Day!
Dear Papa,
I am on the bus with Inez! I never heard of twins splitting before but our pair did. I was buying my ticket at the drugstore and the lady at the counter said, “You’re too young to buy a ticket, Miss.” And who should walk in the door but Inez. “It’s all right. She’s with me,” Inez said. She bought a ticket, too, and the bus pulled up and took us on board. I was so happy about her being here that I told her about writing to you. She doesn’t want to include a note with mine but said to say hi.
I have to take back half of what I said about Irma and Inez. Inez got up before the milking this morning and ran off to town with a boy from the next farm over. He’d agreed to bring Inez when she showed him my letters.
Inez and I have got a lot of catching up to do. I’ll write more later.
Your traveler,
Isabelle
Good Friday night
Dear Papa,
Here we are on Palace, but not at 1234.
Am I an orphan, Papa?
Too tired to write more.
Isabelle
Holy Saturday
Dear Papa,
Inez and I are at Jordahls’. We stayed last night in the room next to Jimmy’s. He snores. Here is an account of yesterday.
The boy in the seat behind us on the bus threw up before we were even at Cannon Falls. We should have known then to turn around for Zumbrota. But we put hankies over our noses and slept. Found the streetcar in St. Paul. Rode to Cleveland Avenue. Walked home. Knocked on the door. No one home. Sat on the step. Still no one home. Left our bags and walked to Jordahls’.
“Oh, mercy!” said Mrs. Jordahl. “When did you girls arrive? How did you get here?”
“An Easter surprise for Mother,” I told her. “We’ve come home!”
“Have you seen our mother?” Inez asked her.
“Have you talked to any of the other neighbors?” Mrs. Jordahl asked us.
We shook our heads and waited.
Mrs. Jordahl was wearing the same apron she had on at Thanksgiving, when Mama didn’t get out of bed. She wiped her hands on it and sat us at the kitchen table. No cookies this time but a good loaf of bread, and traveling does make one hungry.
And I guess why I’m stalling, telling you all the details, Papa, is Mama just isn’t home. All you need to know now is that she’s living close to here with Ian and Ida and we will see her tonight. But maybe you don’t want to know the whole story?
Your Isabelle
Easter Sunday
Dear Aunt Izzy,
We are a neighborhood scandal.
How will I go back to Miss Lockey’s class now, when my mother has left the house my papa bought for us and moved in with a man she cleans for? A bachelor man. A Catholic bachelor man.
I have been in St. Paul only two days and already I have been stared at and whispered about. Mostly at church.
Inez and I got here Friday. We stayed at Jordahls’. Saturday Mama came over for dinner at Jordahls’. Oh, the hugging and kissing! She was so happy to see us. (Not happy enough to rush right over when we got here.) But she was a different Mama. She was dressed up in a new dress and my hands touched each other when they went around her waist. Her hair was young and her giggles were, too. And she had with her the owner of the house, Mr. Francis something-or-another. Mrs. Jordahl told us that Mr. Francis needed live-in help to cook and clean. Mama and the kids have their own part of the house. But live-in help’s children should not call the helpee “Papa Frank.”
From,
Isabelle
April 11, 1944
Dear Papa,
I was with Mama for Easter like I wanted. Ian and Ida found the most eggs. It was a tie. I didn’t look real hard.
Mama had been saving meat stamps, and there was a ham with enough for Inez and me even though we were unexpected guests.
Love,
Isabelle
April 13, 1944
Dear Eleanor,
Hello from St. Paul! Did you wear a new hat for Easter? Only two days until your party. I am sorry I will miss it.
It is wonderful to be in St. Paul again. My family was the center of conversation after church on Sunday. Our previous home was a bit too small for growing children so we have moved to a larger house by the river. My mother kept it as a surprise for my sister Inez and me. What fun it was to pick out a new room. Wish you could see it.
How is everything at school?
Since we have moved, I will be going to a different school than before I left. I will start next week. I am practiced at being the new kid.
Your friend,
Isabelle
April 14, 1944
Dear Aunt Izzy,
I am fed clear up to my eyebrows with Mama’s “Whee! Let’s pick out a room at Papa Frank’s for you girls,” and “Whee! Isn’t it clever of you girls to find your way home by yourselves,” and “My, my, how you gave your aunt and uncles a fright.” I am thinking about calling Pastor Grindahl and telling him that one of his flock was socializing with her boss on the night before Christ was raised from the dead.
How is Inez doing with all of this you may be asking yourself, probably while stroking the fur of that new striped cat of yours. Inez couldn’t be happier. Mr. Frank lives on a very nice street called Mississippi River Boulevard, which will be good for her social life. She and Mama yabber it up, making fun of Uncle Edgar’s stutter and more that isn’t fitting a mother of five, and during wartime, too.
Before I left I took stamps from Uncle Bernard’s desk. I guess sin runs in the family.
Please write to me at 1234 Palace. I will check the mail every day even though no one is living there.
Maybe I’ll go by Valborg now. I am in an ugly mood.
Sincerely,
Valborg
April 23, 1944
Dear Aunt Izzy,
I guess you are waiting for my new address, as the only mail at Palace has been bills. It is (for now): 2455 Mississippi River Boulevard. There is room for you here for sure. Ida and Ian and I walked through the whole house yesterday and counted the rooms. There are fourteen, including three bathrooms. “Never a line,” says Mr. Frank. There are three bedrooms in our part of the house. And a room for nothing but sitting and reading or playing games. One room is Mama’s, one for Ida and Ian, and one is now for Inez and me.
I went downstairs the first few mornings I was here to sit in the kitchen with Mama. It is not like the kitchen days on Palace. I feel like a visitor when I sit with my own mother. She is busy but not the stomping busy she was before I went to Zumbrota. She is humming busy, wearing a clean apron and nodding at me when I talk but crossing things off lists and stirring and wiping all the while. It is all right though, as I cannot think of a lot to say.
“Aren’t we lucky to live here?” she says to me. She was going to come and get me soon, as soon as she could figure out how Things would work out. “One day you’ll understand,” she said. But she goes on wiping plates and doesn’t notice that I’ve braided my own hair, when we spent so much time practicing before. I wish I could feel as lucky as Mama.
Isabelle
April 29, 1944
Dear Aunt Izzy,
It is a long walk to Palace, but Inez and I did it today. We played hopscotch with Jimmy and looked in the windows of 1234. Jimmy had to lift me up. Everything inside the house is waiting. The front porch was open and Mrs. Jordahl let us sit there and eat our snack. Inez wasn’t hungry so I ate hers. The paint is rubbed away from the wall where we used to kick off our shoes. Afterward, Mr. Jordahl drove us back to Mr. Frank’s. He didn’t stay.
We’ve been in St. Paul for three weeks and I am with Mama and the rest, but I am not home.
What would Papa think of all this?
How do you like your place in California? Maybe you would like to move out here and buy your brother’s house. I’d live in it with you. Your new cat would love all the trees around here.
From,
Isabelle
April 30, 1944
Dear Papa,
The lilac buds are coming out. I braided Ida’s hair today. Imagine. It took her so long to get hair and now it is long enough for braids.
Mama doesn’t have to work so hard now. She only cleans one house. I thought that would make you glad.
Love,
Isabelle
May 1, 1944
Dear Papa,
The truth of the matter is that we are living in the house Mama is cleaning. We are not living on Palace.
From,
Isabelle
May 2, 1944
Dear Papa,
A man owns the house. He is a Catholic. But we have our own part of the house. It is on Mississippi River Boulevard. We still get gas at your station.
Love,
Isabelle
May 5, 1944
Dear Aunt Izzy,
Mr. Frank wants to “get to know me better.” Pshaw! He has hair growing out of his nose. He did not go to war to fight for this country (on account of he is too old and besides he has a withered-up hand). He drives up to the station and waits in the car while Stanley fills the tank. He does not get out to lean on the car and make conversation like Papa’s regular customers did. Instead he shouts jokes out the window in a big tuba voice. He thinks he is funny. I am surprised Mr. Jordahl will take his credit. I will not call him Papa Frank like Ida and Ian. They are too young to know better. Little Ida is as bouncy as her curls. She would call the milkman Papa if he hung around long enough.
I started a new school. My teacher is old. The children are wild. I skinned my knee on the playground my very first recess. I’m so lonely I even miss Eleanor. And almost Aunt Jaye. I’d miss you if I’d seen you more recently.
Here is a stamp. Please send me a letter.
From,
Isabelle
May 7, 1944
Dear Papa,
There is more to the story. I’m sorry I had to keep it from you and now I can hardly face my pencil when I write to you.
We are living in the house of a bachelor man. Mama cleans his house and cooks. That’s why we live here. But I overheard Mrs. Leonard at church talking to Mrs. Jacobson. “It’s not right,” she said. “Sophie’s inviting trouble. That man takes Sophie and the kids around like they are a family and I’ve heard the little ones call him ‘Papa Frank.’” Ida and Ian just don’t know better, Papa. I tried talking them out of it but they already have the habit.
Your girl,
Isabelle
May 8, 1944
Dear Aunt Izzy,
I am just wondering. Mama didn’t have any sisters of her own, so did you two seem like sisters when she married your brother? When I ask her about you she raises her eyebrows up. Do you like her? Does she listen to you? Will you talk to her? Maybe she just needed someone to talk to and she was here cleaning one day and Mr. Frank listened and she stayed. I’d be happy to look for some money to send you for the long-distance bill if you would call her on the phone. You don’t have to say I said to call. I don’t think she thinks about Papa enough now. You could send me a picture of my papa that I could accidentally leave out on the mantle. I only have one picture of my papa and I keep it by my bed so I can sleep. Now I can’t remember any of his faces except the one he is making in the picture, surprised because he had just pulled his head from under the hood of a car when Stanley snapped a shot with his new Brownie. I know he wasn’t always surprised, but I forget the mad face and the silly face and the listening-to-the-radio face. Do you forget his big-brother face?
School was better today. Back in Zumbrota I learned to spell lots of words so I could beat out Sue Joan W. and Eleanor in the spelling bee. Now I know more words than any kid in this class. Today was a spelling test and my new teacher smiled at me. I didn’t know she knew how.
I know that despite what Mama says about you, she would like to get a long-distance phone call.
From,
Isabelle
May 10, 1944
Dear Papa,
You taught me to hold my head high no matter what people say. But today when I stood outside at recess and the Mississippi River Boulevard kids were playing on one side and the rest of the kids were playing on the other, I didn’t know where to go. Some kids have said mean things about Mama. I got detention for socking Donald yesterday. Then today the Boulevard kids pretended I was not there when I asked to join kickball, and the other kids argued over who had to have me on their team.
Do you see any Catholics in heaven? Mr. Frank does not live that different from us, except for the big house and nice car. The Jordahls don’t either, except for going to church on Saturday sometimes and Jimmy being the way he is, but he would be that way even if he were Lutheran, Mrs. Jordahl says.