The Red Umbrella

In a dreamlike trance, I pulled the gray wool sweater over my head. I still wasn’t used to the early morning routine of going outside to gather the eggs and feed the chickens, but it seemed to be a small price to pay for having Frankie and me be together. Plus, I wanted to help the Baxters, and I’d become quite good at collecting the eggs without getting the chickens all riled up.

Just as I slipped on my penny loafers, a phone rang and disturbed the quiet stillness of the house. A call before sunrise could only mean one thing … our call to Cuba had been connected. My parents were on the line.

I raced out of my room to see Mrs. Baxter already talking on the phone.

“Yes, we did place the call. Go ahead and connect me.” She waved me over and thrust the receiver into my open hand. “It’s the call to your parents,” she whispered.

I grabbed the phone like a relay racer taking the baton. There was not a second to lose.

“Mamá? Papá?” I said, expecting to hear their glorious voices.

I only heard a distant crackling noise. No one was on the line.

My heart pounded. I waited. A half second later, the voice I’d been longing to hear was there.

“¿Hola? Lucía?”

It was Papá!

Tears filled my eyes. It was so good to hear his voice. To be able to think and speak in Spanish and not worry about translating my thoughts.

“Sí, ¡estoy aquí! I’m here!” I called out.

“¡Mi hija! We miss you so much. How are you? How’s Frankie?”

I blinked and a heavy tear dropped onto my cheek. “We’re fine. We’re living on a farm in Nebraska.”

“Sí, sí. We received the telegram from Alfredo Ramírez in Miami. What a small world that he would be in charge of where you were sent! But tell me, how are the Americans treating you? Are they a nice family?”

“The Baxters are very nice. We’re learning English. How are you and Mamá?”

“¿Nosotros? Perfecto, now that we know you are safe. Hold on … your mother wants to talk to you. Te quiero, Lucy.”

“Love you too, Papá.”

I heard him give my mother the phone with instructions to speak quickly because the call was expensive.

I brushed away the tear that was now clinging to the bottom of my chin. “Mamá?”

“Lucía! Ay, how I missed hearing your voice! ¿Cómo estás?”

“I’m fine. I told Papá that we’re living on a farm. It’s actually very nice here.”

Frankie ran into the room.

I motioned for Frankie to stand next to me so that we could both put ours ears against the receiver.

“And how’s your brother?” Mamá asked.

“Mamá! Mamá! It’s me, Frankie. I was in the bathroom and didn’t hear the phone ring!”

“Frankie!” Mamá exclaimed. “I didn’t know you were on the line. How I love you, my little man! How have you been?”

“Oh, Mamá! It’s been—”

I elbowed Frankie and opened my eyes as big as I could. I’d already warned him not to say anything that might make our parents worry.

“It’s been …” Frankie paused as he thought of what to say next. “Fine,” he said, his voice cracking.

“I know this is hard. Just take care of each other and soon you’ll be home.” I could hear the quiver in Mamá’s own voice. Neither Frankie nor Mamá was fooling anyone.

Frankie opened his mouth to say something, but only a whimper escaped from his lips.

Papá jumped back on the line. “Frankie, mi hijo, you’re such a brave boy. You’ve got to be strong so you can protect your sister. Can you do that?”

Frankie nodded.

“Frankie?” Papá asked again.

“He’s nodding yes,” I said.

“Good. I want you both to think of this as an adventure. You can tell us all the stories when you come back home.”

Again, Frankie just nodded.

I closed my eyes, imagining that I was there in my living room. Talking to them face to face. “Do you know when we’ll be going home?” I asked.

“No, not yet. Hopefully soon.”

Mrs. Baxter touched my shoulder. I knew we had to hang up. We had to limit our time so that we’d have enough money for future calls.

“Papá, we have to go,” I said, barely finding my own voice.

“I know, mi hija. We’ll talk soon. Write to us!”

“We love you!” Mamá and Papá both said.

Frankie and I responded together, too. “¡Los queremos también!”

“¡Adiós!” they shouted.

“Adiós,” we said in unison.

Then we heard a small click and the line went dead.

I slowly hung up the receiver. Frankie ran back to his room. I felt more alone than ever.