The Painted Table(11)

Dear Nels,

You’re accusing me again? I thought you were over that. I thought you trusted me—as you should. And you’re a fine one to talk. I read in a magazine about GIs on shore leave—taking “liberties” with those gorgeous, curvy island girls—the ones who don’t wear anything but beads around their neck.

Love to you too,

Joann

She mails the letter and quickly regrets it. She writes a profuse apology. His letters from then on are few and convey no passion of a lonesome husband at sea.





CHAPTER SIX



THE HOMECOMING





1945–1946





August 15. The war is over at last. Nels will be coming home. Daddy will be coming home.

“Saffee, take this little flag, go outside, and run all the way down the hill to the end of the street,” Joann instructs. “While you’re running, wave the flag and shout as loud as you can, ‘The war’s over!’ Go on, now. Run!”

“Mommy! Come with me!”

“No, I can’t. I need to stay with April.”

“I can’t go alone!” She stamps her right foot in protest. “I won’t go!” Never has she been expected to do such a public thing. Never has she been outdoors alone.

But Joann insists. After minutes of argument, Saffee grabs the flag, dashes outside, and with tears streaming, fearfully runs down the long San Francisco hill. She does not shout the wonderful news but sobs, incredulous that she must do something so intimidating.

They wait.

Nels’s ship does not release him for almost ten more months. His letters during this time are lukewarm. On one hand, Joann is grieved that he doubts her faithfulness, as he had before they married. And now again, skewed by her emotional immaturity, she is not completely sorry for inadvertently causing jealousy, even when it is needless.

Finally, he calls to say that he’s on his way from Portland to San Francisco. Joann and Saffee are beside themselves—Saffee with happy anticipation, Joann with nerves. When they hear him coming up the stairway, they expectantly open the door to a man with a heavy sea bag over his shoulder and a taut, unsmiling face that Saffee barely recognizes.

“Daddy? Daddy! You’re home!” Saffee reaches for him to pick her up, but he thrusts past both wife and daughter and shows no interest in the sleeping, almost-one-year-old child on the bed. To Saffee’s great dismay, her parents begin to yell angry words.

Within a few days, Joann is able to convince Nels that April is indeed his flesh and blood. “See, Nels, look at that grin. Just like yours! A baby never lived who looked more like her father.”

Convinced, yes, but traumatic months of doubt at sea did permanent damage. April is a child of his flesh, but will never be a child of his heart.





CHAPTER SEVEN



ST. PAUL





1946





Saffee slouches in a living room chair, one leg slung over the armrest. As is often the case, her young mind, uncluttered by experience or preoccupation, scrutinizes the present moment. Singsong floats down the stairway as April, playing in her crib, forestalls a nap. Why is her little sister always so happy and busy?

On the floor is a rag doll that Joann made for Saffee that she has never cared for. What does one do with a doll? Why does April cuddle and coo over Saffee’s neglected toy? She’s dragged it around so much its yarn hair is all but gone.

Saffee listens to her parents as together they attach shelves to a kitchen wall. They aim to make their newly purchased, modest home more livable. Joann gives minute instructions and Nels tries to comply patiently and precisely, “to keep the peace.” No matter what Joann and Nels are doing, decisions rarely involve discussion, since Joann usually makes up her mind quickly about things, then closes it.

After three weeks back in St. Paul, the Kvaales, other than Saffee, are fairly comfortable. It’s their first house and their first backyard. April finds delight toddling barefoot in the grass, picking dandelions and chasing squirrels.

“Watch your sister,” Joann often says. Saffee doesn’t mind being in the backyard, but she’s uneasy in the front. She’s seen older children in the vicinity, to say nothing about a few dogs. She is comfortable with neither.

As she slumps in the chair, idly bouncing a leg, laughter from outdoors interrupts her boredom. Curious, she steps out onto the screened front porch, just far enough to investigate unobserved, as her mother might have done. In the adjacent yard, five girls in summer dresses, perhaps slightly older than Saffee, giggle and shout, jump and run, as they bat about a blue rubber ball, the largest ball Saffee has ever seen. She does not yearn to join them, but is curious enough to watch.

“Here. Send it over here. It’s my birthday, you know!” a bubbly blond girl cries. The frivolity continues until an aproned woman steps out of the house and calls, “Midgie! Everyone! Come in for cake and ice cream.” The laughing girls skip and tumble into the house.