Dear Aunt Myrna
Page 8
Papa replaced the broken lock on the sliders and he did not restock the liquor cabinet. Mama wanted him to get rid of the cabinet altogether but he said it was solid birch and we could use it for something else. Mama argued that it was a chilling reminder of the robbery and a few days later Leon and another man came to the house in a pickup truck and hauled the cabinet away.
School started two weeks later. Second grade wasn't nearly as aggravating as I had expected it to be. My summer of worrying about it had come to nothing. Jeanie's sister's report notwithstanding, Sister Martha Louise was not the ogre I expected. She was stern and she was demanding, but these qualities, I learned, do not necessarily comprise a beast.
Sister Martha Louise was fair. If our behavior warranted her sternness, she was stern. And what she demanded of us was nothing less than what we were each capable of. She abhorred mediocrity, and insisted that none of us be average.
"Anyone can be average," she scolded us one day. Over half the class had earned a C on our spelling test that week. Three students had made D's, two had failed. One student had an A, and one student a B.
"I will not have a roomful of average students!" Sister Martha Louise slammed her ruler on her desk. "Now. Take out a piece of paper, and we will take the test again!" On the second test there were four grades above average, and two below average. This was still unacceptable to the nun. She dispensed with her lesson plan for the rest of the day and drilled us on our spelling. Forty-five minutes before school let out we took another spelling test. No one failed, no one got a D, and seven of us made an A or B.
"That's better," she said without feeling. "Not much, but some. And some better is better than no better at all."
That fall Mr Watson began driving Danny and Timmy to school on his way to work every morning, and Mrs Watson borrowed our Falcon every afternoon to pick them up. I asked Mama why they didn't walk to school anymore and she said it was none of our affair.
Mama was pinning up the hem in my Halloween costume. I was going trick or treating as a ghost, and Mama didn't want me tripping over the sheet.
"Hold still, Honey!"
"I am holding still!" I whined.
"If you were holding still I wouldn't be telling you to hold still, now, would I?"
After a few more minutes of me wiggling about and Mama repositioning me, she announced, "There! Now, let's have a look!" She stood up and walked backwards away from me.
"Yes, you look just like a little Casper!"
"But am I spooky?" I asked.
"Well, you scare the very Dickens out of your dad and me sometimes," she laughed.
"That'll do!" I said.
"Oh, I nearly forgot!" Mama left the room and returned carrying an envelope. She pulled the sheet off of me and folded it over the chair. "This came for you in the mail this morning."
I grabbed the envelope from her hands and charged down the basement steps, and climbed up on the couch.
Dear Kate,
Hope this letter finds you well and happy. I'm curious how Lost Horizon is coming along. And have you made peace with Sister Martha Louise yet?
The last wheat is just about ready for harvest. It's gotten so dry here the past few years but we're expecting a profitable yield.
Your mama wrote me and said you were going trick or treating as a ghost this year. I'm sure you will scare everyone half to death!
If you don't write back I may be inclined to write you every week until you do. And I assure you, left to my own devices I can be very, very boring.
As always,
Aunt Myrna
It was an empty threat, receiving a weekly letter from Aunt Myrna was not particularly menacing. I could always toss them away unread if they were too dull. I didn't give Aunt Myrna nor her letters another thought for over a week.
It rained the following Saturday. I watched cartoons all morning. Mama began fixing supper just after lunch and I complained that there was nothing to do. I whined and stammered and belly ached as only a six year old knows how to do. I paced back and forth between the kitchen and my bedroom, and back to the kitchen again several times. Sitting on my bed staring out my window at the insidious rain, I heard Mama go down the basement steps. I was too bored to get up for many minutes, and then I was too bored to keep looking out the window. I heard the basement door shut again and after a little while I moped back into the kitchen and recited my languid litany.
Mama suggested I go sit at the dining room table awhile.
She had set out a little pile of lined paper, two pencils, an eraser, a stamped envelope, and my dictionary. Next to the dictionary were Aunt Myrna's two letters.
I was not at all enthusiastic about spending my afternoon writing to Aunt Myrna but Mama coaxed me gently, saying if someone takes time to write me it would be rude to ignore them. I didn't care about being rude but I could see Mama was invested in winning this battle. I slumped into a chair with an impatient resignation. Mama returned to the kitchen.
I stared out the dining room window, watching the rain whip against the panes. I idly thumbed through the dictionary, then set it back down. I touched one of the letters. I watched the rain some more.
Minutes went by.
"You almost done in there, Honey?" Mama called. The stove door slammed shut and I heard the faucet turn on.
"Almost finished!" I exclaimed. I picked up a pencil, thumped it lazily against the table a few times, then snatched a piece of paper and scribbled as quickly as I could.
Dear Aunt Myrna,
Thank you for your letters. I hope you are doing well. I am fine.
Your niece,
Katie Arlene Morgenstern
For reasons that to this day I do not know, I put down the pencil, pushed the chair away from the table, grabbed my dictionary, went to my room. I sat on the bed the rest of that afternoon reading Lost Horizons. By supper I had finished reading over half of the first chapter, and I had looked up many words. Even after I read the definitions I still wasn't sure what everything in the chapter meant, but I was surprised to realize that what I understood I liked.
As the days grew shorter and colder, I stayed inside more and more. Danny and Timmy and I played a little after school, but we usually didn't see one another after supper.
As winter pressed toward us I found myself reading my book more and more. Every few weeks I would come home from school to find a letter from Aunt Myrna. She usually told me some little story about what was happening in town, or how the farm was doing, and she always wanted to hear about what was going on with me. With a little nudging from Mama, I dutifully replied each time I received a letter from Nebraska.
Dear Aunt Myrna,
Thank you for your letter. I hope you are doing well. I am fine.
Your niece,
Katie Arlene Morgenstern
Just before Thanksgiving I decided to show off my new cursive skills. I wrote, in my finest hand, the following letter:
Dear Aunt Myrna,
Thank you for your letter. I hope you are doing well. I am fine.
Your niece,
Katie Arlene Morgenstern
Aunt Myrna wrote back immediately.
Dear Kate,
Perhaps you could refrain from cursive for a little while longer.
With affection,
Aunt Myrna
A more sensitive child might have been discouraged from writing altogether. Instead, I wrote seven letters in a row, one each day. I wrote all seven letters in cursive, and they each said exactly the same thing.
Dear Aunt Myrna,
Sister Martha Louise has instructed us to practice our cursive writing as much as possible.
If you don't write back I may be inclined to write you (in cursive) every day until you do. And I assure you, left to my own devices I can be very, very boring.
Most sincerely, your niece,
Katie Arlene Morgenstern
One letter included this post script:
PS: Here is my school picture for second grade. Mama finally let
me get my hair cut in a pixie. There's nothing left to pin curl!
CHAPTER 9