Dear Mrs. Whitehall,
I’ve delivered two of the letters. Margie still won’t come out of the house, but she is taking what the milkman brings, which is a good sign. The curtains haven’t moved an inch, so Charlie and I talk very loudly when we are working in the garden. (Charlie speaks rather loudly already—his hearing is damaged.) Mrs. Kleinschmidt told us to stop making a racket, but I’ll bring a brass band down the street if it’ll get Margie to step onto the front porch. Roylene brings the baby daily, and watching her press his little hands against the front window would thaw even Stalin’s wintry heart.
This is so unlike Margie. She is not prone to dramatics, which makes this worse to see. Charlie thinks we should just break in and drag her out into the sun, but I said no. She needs time. However, there are limits. After I finish your deliveries, if Margie still has not come out I will take Charlie up on his offer. It’s not healthy to stay inside like that. Also, her canned food must be running out. I will stop by the USO to pick some up for her, to leave on the steps. I don’t feel bad about taking it. She’s just as much part of this war as the next person.
Thank you for being such a good friend. I know you would come to Iowa if you were able. I’m very sorry about your boy’s illness, and pray he makes a complete recovery.
Best regards,
Irene Wachowski
P.S. I’ve enclosed Toby’s V-mail address. Hopefully it won’t take too long to get to his ship, though I’ve heard it could take weeks. I don’t know if Margie has gotten anything besides Toby’s telegram acknowledging his father’s passing. It came early in the morning and Charlie intercepted it before the delivery boy could ring the bell. He wrote “not bad news” across the front before sliding it under her door. I suppose that was not necessarily true, but it was what he thought to do at the time.