“Home Is Where You Are”
This week’s blog follows last week’s in a manner of speaking. But I didn’t write it; my mother did–years before I was even a little zygote. It’s a letter to my father who was then stationed in Tennessee at the Smyrna Army-Air Field. This was a year after World War II. He’d failed the Army physical with his lungs ruined from the mines, so he served in the Red Cross. Mother worried about his health; his emphazema didn’t give him that many more years.
My sister came across the letter in amongst memorabilia that Mother had stowed in a small fire-safe box she kept in her dresser. She’s been gone twenty years now, which seems shocking to think about. Only person still alive from the time of the story she wrote is my sister, who I’m surprising with this blog. Ho ho ho. She’s quoted in Mother’s story–often and very proudly.
From her letter, she and her young daughter were returning by train a fair distance to Wilkes-Barre. Goldsboro’s mentioned, so likely they were leaving North Carolina where Ed had been previously stationed; my sister was born in North Carolina.
Ed was our mother’s lifetime love. She never remarried, which would have made for an easier life. A single woman with no college education trying to raise her children six states apart from her own family because life was a degree more affordable in the South. She never grew tired of talking about him; he was a hero to her.
So here’s her letter. Her diffident punchline comes close to the end of the letter, appropriately enough.
Mailed with a 3 cent stamp…
Monday night 10:20 PM
Dearest Ed
Miss J. is tucked in–just now. The reason, though, was because we both slept late this morning, and again this afternoon so she wasn’t sleepy too early tonight. She missed her “peddy back” ride. Ellen tried to substitute, but she started to cry & wouldn’t let her. She misses you. (I belong to that club, too) and every once in a while she’ll say “Daddy come to see Janet?” because I told her you would, soon. She also says “Daddy gone work Tennessee”–[the] Kuhns could understand her, so she is speaking fairly plainly, it’s not just our parental pride.
Wish I knew where you are tonight, and how you are. But I wish more I were there, too, listening to your singing to Miss J. while I washed the dishes. Home is where you are, anymore. Do be sure to take care of yourself and go to a doctor soon, too.
When you left Saturday night she said “Daddy all gone,” and I felt all gone too, but I knew I shouldn’t cry & frighten her, so I didn’t, not much anyway, and she was asleep in ten or fifteen minutes.
She couldn’t have been better for the entire trip. Several women in our [rail] car remarked about how unusually sweet she was.
There was a little boy right across from us–about three, I imagine, and she was playing with him after breakfast until we got in at Philadelphia. He didn’t have her disposition, though–his own mother said so. He had some toy buses and automobiles, so “Twese” was deserted for a bus, but though he had four or five, he didn’t like her having one. His mother insisted on his sharing, though. She was nice to me too, helping watch Miss J. so she wouldn’t tire me too much. The lady who got on at Goldsboro, and another older lady also were all taken up with Janet–she charmed them all. We honestly have good reason to be proud of her–do you know she hardly whimpered for that whole trip.
I was ever so glad Ellen came to Philadelphia because I was tired, and they’ve dispensed with the nurse at the nursery, so Ellen helped us ever so much. (She is “An’ Anya” and Mother has started calling her “Anya,” too. Ellen says there must be some Russian in our daughter!) Between trains, Janet got a two hour nap, and she was awake, then, until we pulled into W.B. [Wilkes-Barre] Janet and Mother were there, as soon as she spied Janet she exclaimed “An’ Janet” just as clearly and delightedly, & went right to her. Janet had to go right back home because Mary was substituting for her with Ma, but in spite of how tired she was, and how worried, she was there at the train with a big smile and a welcome home. She surely is a girl in millions, not just one million.
Our car from Philadelphia up was marvelous. In all our trips they’ve never before had so good a pullman [car] on the Jersey Central. It was air conditioned, and the chairs were like big lounge chairs you could move about. Ellen pushed two together for a bed for Miss J., but she would have none of it–she had to “yook at yights,” and try every chair, which she did, as there were only two other people in the car. One, a lady, stopped on her way out at W.B. to remark she’d never seen such a lovely, well behaved child before. Needless to say, I beamed & Ellen puffed up & we chorused an agreement.
She hasn’t acted a bit strange here, either. We’re sure she remembers, because last night when she trotted in to go to bed she turned left toward the crib, right on her own. She was asleep in two minutes & I joined her not long after. We’ve been sleeping ever since, just about, but I believe we’re caught up now, and I’m planning to go once to see Ma and Janet tomorrow afternoon. I’m going to put on her new white dress & shoes & show her off.
Janet says Ma isn’t strong at all, but Jay feels it’s the medicine, & it’ll have to work out of her before she’ll feel better. I can give you a better first hand report when I write tomorrow. I’m going to talk about all the “menus” you’ve gone through in the past month, so she’ll know how much more you’re eating, but be sure to keep up that eating won’t you, & tell me about it, too.
When you start looking for our house, dear, don’t feel I’ll need “all the fixings” because you know we can manage–even without cupboards, if necessary. Boy–that’s a concession now, isn’t it? Seriously, though, since Tennessee is still South, you may have no better choice than N.C. offers and don’t let it worry you. And if you do get to the furniture stage, we both like the same things, & anything you select will be just right for us, too.
Won’t you send up what socks you want darned, or buttons sewed on, or something of the sort so I can feel I’m doing a little for you. I just can’t help feeling I’m not doing my share, even though I couldn’t offer a substitute plan any more than you could. When I know how much I miss you, even with all the family and people I know around me, and then I think of you by yourself, it hurts more than I can say in words, that we had to let you go alone. When you look for a room get a nice friendly family, as well as a nice room, and don’t try pinching pennies on it either. Your comfort is a necessary part of your health.
Wonder how long it takes for mail to come through? I’ll be haunting the mailman ‘till I hear from you, & Janet will be reading “Daddy’s yetters” instead of Gwan’ma’s from now on.
Haven’t said a word about me because I’m disgustingly healthy–must be twins–with red hair. No little blonde could be so wiggly.
It’s going on 12:00 so I’d better get up to bed. I’ll try to write earlier tomorrow evening, so I can tell you about our visit to Luzerne.
All our love,
Ruth and Daddy’s best girl
P.S. Miss J. already has found out she can get a “cwacker wit butta’ an’ jam” from her Gwan’ ma, and also that if she says “sank you Gwan’ ma” she’ll get two. She’s a little monkey.
P.S. #2 She knew the rooster & the house right away today, & she “giddyaps” all over the house–usually with the horse’s tail first.
R.
P.S. 3 I love you more than ever.
R
Mother with Janet and Susan - one year later.
Cast of Characters:
• Ed is our father & Ruth is our mother.
• Miss J. is Janet, aka my sister, named for our father’s sister.
• Ellen is Ruth’s younger, yet unmarried sister who was still living at home.
• Janet is Ed’s sister.
• Ma is Jean Henderson–Ed’s mother who remarried after his father died. She buried a second husband and her son, William; life was not kind to her. She lived in Luzerne, about five miles from Wilkes-Barre.
• Mother–aka “Gwan’ ma” is Ruth’s mother, my grandmother who raise us three.
• The “must be twins–with red hair” turned out to be our sister, Susan, very much a blonde. Evidently she was a large baby.
Mother’s very clear long hand no doubt made her teachers proud. Her initial “R” remained the same for all of the weekly letters I would receive in college and then after.