Letter # Two

"Dear Mommy,

"How are you? I am fine. And everybody else is fine too. And Momma too.

"It is almost Christmas and we are all so excited! Art brought a little small tree for us and he set it in a bucket of clay from the cellar. It is standing up pretty good. But I hope Darrell's cat doesn't jump on it. It might fall down.

"For Christmas I would like a bottle of nail polish. And some dishes. Just play dishes. I think Butch would like a gun and I know Darrell would love a truck. Michael is just a baby, so I don't know what babies want. But he cries all the time. Momma gets pretty tired. Maybe he'd like a doll. I don't know.

"I hope Momma mails this letter so you get it in time for Christmas and maybe send us some presents.

"Will you soon be coming home?

Love your daughter Novah"

Now, in my defence, I was just a kid with no parents. It was Christmas time, and times were hard for Momma and everyone else. Winters were rough in the 60s and early 70s, and money was non-existent. Our little old house had little to no insulation and the oil that Roddie Chaisson delivered (when Momma could afford some) could only do so much.

I have a clear memory of the response this innocent letter elicited from my mother in Labrador. She was enraged and actually phoned Momma about it. She went on and on about how ungrateful I was for sending a "grocery list" of "junk" that we wanted for Christmas. And I only know this because Momma was pretty saddened by the response and was on the phone immediately to Kathleen and Dottie and Isabell.

My little ears soaked in every word. I overheard it all.

And I was too young to understand that no doubt Jeannette bristled at my reference to a cranky baby that Momma had to look after.

Jeannette had four small children left to be orphans here on the Island and she had no intention of ever sending us each a present. Momma did her best, I know, and I think she became pretty discouraged with the type of woman her son had married. Momma mourned our father so deeply that it couldn't be understood.

Jeannette, not so much.

Jeannette didn't even want to take the time to write us a letter, talk to us on the phone, or provide Christmas.

I don't honestly know what she thought Momma lived on. But it sure wasn't bullshit, Momma could smell that a mile away.

Jeannette must have been in quite a state to actually make the call from Labrador, since long distance calls were a luxury, very expensive. But Momma cautioned me after that not to ask my mother for things.

So I didn't.

But I gleaned over the years that Jeannette, having grown up so poor in New Brunswick, had developed an appreciation for nice things. Pretty clothes, nice jewellery, expensive cigarettes.

While her children did without.

However, at this age, that meant nothing to me. I had been chastised, so I didn't write any letters for a while.