Part III: What Happens a Cappella? (Chapter 59)
Man, I haven’t eaten a thing for five days, just orange juice and Tab, I just gotta lose that last 20 pounds. God, I hate January. It’s so hard to lose weight when it’s so cold, you can’t walk to your friends’ houses, stuck at home all day. Yuk. I’m so clambed (a new word I learned in English class today – we had to read Alan Sillitoe’s “The Loneliness of the Long-distance Runner.” Ugh. I hate school).
Clambed. I just love that word.
It describes my hunger exactly: a hunger so enormous, a big, black gaping hole
in my gut, so vast it can suck in an entire universe. It’s the kind of hunger
that makes your eyes feel big and buggy and your cheeks sunken. That’s how I
feel. Except for dizziness and weakness, it’s a good feeling because your body
feels light and airy, but I know I’m about to pass out if I don’t eat something
solid soon. I’m so glad Nana’s not here to fuss over me. She’s such
a busybody, asking me this and asking me that. I’m damned if I eat, I’m damned
if I don’t.
Why can’t she just leave me
alone?
All her talk about food makes
me want to scream bloody murder.
Still, I’m thinking it’s maybe
time to find something to nibble, but I’m so scared I won’t be able to stop,
I’ve been here before, and it can get ugly. I don’t want to go out of control,
but I find myself here, standing on a kitchen chair, rooting through the top
shelf of the cupboard, trying to find something healthy and not too fattening,
but this dump’s like a landmine filled with booby traps, ready to explode:
Jolly Time popcorn, Campbell’s Chicken Noodle soup, Kitty Clover potato chips,
Oreos – I even find three Double Bing candy bars shoved into Nana’s spice box.
God, can’t I even find a
shriveled-up apple?
What does it take to stay on a
diet around here, anyway?
I’m about to grab the Bings,
when I notice a corner of an envelope sticking out from under the spice box. I
tug at the corner, and a yellowed envelope slides out.
The handwriting is absolutely
stunning, a fancy French-style cursive:
From: Miss Veronica LaRue
C/O Mr. Henry F. Bacon
Otoe Street
Sioux City, Iowa
To: Miss Kat O’Toole
New Hampton, Iowa
Postmarked “Jan. 4, 1917.”
Who is Kat O’Toole, anyway?
As I try to figure out the
meaning of the date, a flash:
Kat is Nana.
My hair stands on end; I never
heard anybody call her Kat before. She’s always been Nana to me and all my
cousins.
Kat. An alien name, so
fantastic and unlikely that it would hang like a size 18 dress on Nana’s size
10 body.
It all comes together: Kat was
only 16 back in 1917.
Sixteen! My age now! God, the
reality of it seems so impossible; Nana’s been old as long as I can remember,
and the idea of her youth burns like a sepia image engraved in my mind. She
makes such a big deal of my foolish ways; she says I’m a frivolous creature,
given to impulsive acts, dark moods, laziness, gluttony, immorality, the list
probably goes on to include the other four capital sins (their names I can’t
remember right now because my brain is starved, but I’m sure she’s seen me
commit them at some point in my pointless life).
Was Nana ever frivolous? Did
she like boys and worry about teenage stuff?
Did she dream about doing “it”
with boys in dark closets or behind the altar in church?
I never thought about it
before; I always assumed life on the farm was too harsh and busy for such
thoughts: drag yourself out of bed at dawn, fire up the wood stove, feed the
chickens, milk the cows, make bread, wash clothes by hand, sew clothes, make breakfast
from scratch, weed corn rows – a relentless list of chores that would squash
any possibility for cultivating any lustful teenage feelings, guaranteed to
send your soul packing to Hell.
In the old days, even if no one
didn’t have any fun, everyone was probably skinny as rails, what with all that
back-breaking work.
But, now, I hold power in my
hands: a letter from a “Miss Veronica LaRue, Otoe St., Sioux City, Iowa,”
promising, perhaps, some juicy secrets from Nana’s past.
I tap the edge of the envelope
in my palm.
Guilty pleasures, more
compelling than those Double Bings.
It’s probably against the law
to read someone else’s mail, even if it’s almost 50 years old. But I’m weak
minded –
Besides, I have a vast history
of reading secrets not my own.
I climb down from the kitchen
chair.
Not the time to experience a
moral dilemma.
This letter is a gift, if not
from that Catholic God, then from a God of serendipity, or maybe from “Deus ex
machina” (another one of those English literary terms), the God who’s
determined to save me from yet another bout of gluttony.
Whatever.
Nana’s not due home for about
two hours, so there’s absolutely nothing standing between me and enlightenment.
I take the letter to my room,
just in case.
As I slide the letter out of
the envelope, some yellowed clippings fall to the floor, but I concentrate on
the letter, written in not only the most beautiful cursive I have ever seen,
also the most perfect:
January 1st, 1917
C/O Mr. Henry F. Bacon
Otoe Street
Sioux City, Iowa
My Dearest Kat,
How I have missed
you this New Year holiday!
I can barely stand
being without you, but Mother said I had to spend this holiday with our Bacon
cousins.
Whilst I am being
treated well, I yearn for the ones I love, even young Jonathan, that errant
sibling of mine. The Bacons send their Love & Sincere greetings (Did you
receive their Christmas letter?) And your Gertie sends her big sisterly love
and says she is doing well at Davidson’s, having sold much perfume and jewelry
during the Christmas season.
Even as I miss you,
I am enamored of the big city. Sioux City is so much alive; I have even gone
riding in a flivver, officially called a “Ford Model T.”
The Bacons are very
well connected; the flivver belongs to the Connolly’s, owners of a commercial
bakery, Connolly’s and Sons.
They are involved
in every aspect of Sioux City society. I do not like the smell of the
stockyards, but I have been told by a certain young man (more on him later)
that one adjusts to it.
He says, “Think of
it as the smell of money.”
Oh, Kat, you would
absolutely love it here. Auntie June says that jobs for young women are
plentiful. One needs only a 10th grade education to find an excellent
secretarial position in a good firm. Jobs go begging because young men are
seeking factory jobs in Detroit and back East, doing hard labor, and earning
much “mazuma” (new word for your vocabulary = money, in case you could not
figure it out). Young women take the office jobs and then leave after six
months to get married.
My love, you will
be 16 in less than a year! Let’s think about moving here and getting an
apartment together. We can find jobs at the same firm, perhaps, or at least
ones close to each other.
We can earn much
mazuma and be special sisters for the rest of our lives – or at least until we
meet that someone special. I look so forward to our cuddling under the covers
at night. How I yearn for your warmth on these cold winter nights.
Speaking of young
men, I met one Chas. M. (same as previous page) at a party; he is somewhat shy
but very handsome. He could be the one...but I am being foolish and very brash;
I have only known him three days. You would like him. Maybe he has a brother or
friend.
But, dearest,
before you can think about young men, you must do something about your weight.
Please do not misunderstand, my sweet cousin, you are not, by any definition,
corpulent, but at the Christmas Eve Party, I noticed that you are tending
toward plumpness. Whilst it is somewhat charming on a sweet 15-year-old girl
who is yet to be interested in young men, a young eligible woman needs to care
for her “temple.” Gertie has discovered a new diet, and she has lost over 20
pounds on it. She looks wonderful! I will tell you all about it when I see you
next week.
Do not hide your
great beauty under rolls of corpulence! You are so fortunate to have inherited
that lovely thick red O’Toole hair, stunning cheekbones, and those wonderful
green eyes. I know not where I have inherited my dark complexion, hair, and
eyes – Mother says my strange characteristics come from my father’s French side
(oh, those LaRues), but that rogue brother of mine has been of late calling me
“Jigger,” in reference to a rather cruel word having to do with the Negro race.
I must close now;
Chas. is taking me out for a carriage ride, and I must get ready.
I will be home
soon, probably by the time you receive this!
With Much Affection & Love,
Your Veronica ❦
I’m so dizzy. I don’t know if it’s from lack of food or shock from what I have just read. It doesn’t matter. I drop the letter and envelope to the floor, lay flat on my bed, and close my eyes. So many questions, yet I know I can never ask Nana about Veronica without revealing I have read her mail without her permission. All kinds of thoughts race through my head, crashing into one another. It’s just too unreal to think about.
Nana on a diet?
I can’t believe she ever saw a
fat day in her life. I can’t believe Veronica (whoever she is) was so mean.
Pretending to love my Nana and then stabbing her in the back. Just like those
catty in-crowd girls at school: sweet to your face and calling you names and
spreading rumors about you behind your back. And who is “Chas. M.”? I wonder if
Veronica ever married him? At least I know how Nana got to Sioux City all the
way from New Hampton.
Nana’s always been a bit vague
about the old days.
I rise slowly from the bed; I’d
better return this letter where I got it and get something to eat. I grab the
letter and envelope from the floor.
As I refold the letter and
begin putting it back into the envelope, I notice something else: two yellowing
clippings.
First, a news story and then an
obituary from The Sioux City Journal, both dated February 15, 1929:
Local Woman Killed in Automobile Accident
Sioux City–A local woman died late last
night in an automobile accident at W. 7th and Otoe Streets.
Veronica A.
LaRue, 30, died of severe burns, after her Ford flipped several times and
exploded into flames.
“I never saw
anything like it,” said George Steiner, an Otoe St. resident. “It was almost as
if someone had poured gasoline on that automobile.”
Steiner said
he had not witnessed the actual incident.
“We don’t
know why the car flipped,” said James McClelland, the investigating officer.
“No ice on the road, and no fog.”
Police are
continuing their investigation.
____________________
Veronica
Anne LaRue
Sioux
City Resident
Woman
Suffrage Activist
Red
Cross volunteer
Doll
Collector
Sioux
City – Veronica A. LaRue, 30, of Sioux City, died Wednesday at St. Joseph’s
Hospital, after an automobile accident. She was the daughter of Vernon W. LaRue
and Christina (O’Toole) LaRue.
Miss LaRue was born Jan.6, 1899, in New Hampton,
Iowa. She worked for Connolly’s & Sons, a commercial bakery, for three
years, as a secretary, retiring in Oct. 1923 because of ill health. In Dec.
1923, she moved into the Home of the Good Shepherd, where she performed light
housekeeping for the Sisters.
In her later years, she amassed a collection of
porcelain dolls, many of them dressed in Revolutionary War costumes.
During the Great War, she worked as a Red Cross
volunteer, rolling bandages for the Medical Corps.
After Armistice Day, she began working toward
passage of the 19th Amendment, guaranteeing women the right to vote. She met
President Warren G. Harding twice, once in 1921 at his Inaugural, and in 1923,
shortly before his death, at a White House ceremony to honor prominent Iowa
women activists.
The service will be held Saturday at St. Boniface
Catholic Church, at 10 a.m. Chas. and Katherine Mallory, a cousin, will sing
the “Dies Irae” during the Mass for the Dead. On Friday evening, at 7 p.m.,
visitation will take place at Manning Funeral Home. There will be no viewing.
In addition to her parents, survivors include one
brother, Jonathan R. LaRue, and five nephews and nieces.
Officiating at the service will be her pastor, the
Rev. Thomas Hoolihan.
Memorial contributions may be made to the Home of
the Good Shepherd, a home for unwed mothers.
Now I’m really confused. What
happened to Nana’s cousin? Why hasn’t she ever talked about Veronica LaRue?
At least I know who Chas. is
now: Pappa. But why did my grandfather marry Nana instead of Veronica?
Was Veronica skinny?