The Red Umbrella

“We can’t have boys sneaking into the girls’ dormitory. All the young ladies deserve to feel safe. We owe them that much!” Mrs. Eckhart argued.

“I know, I know.” Mr. Ramírez nodded. “But he’s only seven and he wanted to be with his sister. You can understand that.”

Frankie and I sat next to each other in a small office watching the two administrators go back and forth deciding what our punishment should be.

Mrs. Eckhart walked over to me, and in her heavily accented Spanish she tried to explain the problem. “We simply cannot have unsupervised boys entering the girls’ building. You’re a young lady now. Imagine if someone else’s brother were to come in … get into your bed. How do I know he won’t do this again?”

“I won’t. Promise.” Frankie gave her his sad-puppy-dog eyes.

Mr. Ramírez raised his eyebrows. “Oye, that’s what you told me the last four times I caught you sneaking out.”

“¿Cuatro?” I asked.

Frankie shrugged and dropped his head.

“It’s become a pattern, except tonight he wasn’t caught until he’d snuck into the girls’ building. Mr. Ramírez, I don’t think there’s any other choice. He needs to be sent to the Cuban Home for Boys.”

“No!” Frankie yelled.

“Wait, where is that? Isn’t that far away?” I stood up. “That’ll mean we won’t get to see each other except on Saturdays.”

“Lucía, we’ve tried, and Frankie knew there’d be consequences.” Mr. Ramírez shook his head. “He’ll be well cared for over there, and as soon as a foster family becomes available, we’ll reunite you.”

I slumped back into my chair. “Frankie, what have you done?”

Frankie jumped up and put his hands on his hips. “If you send me away, I won’t stay there. I’ll just run away again. I want to be with Lucía!”

I pulled him down by his elbow. He was making things worse.

Mrs. Eckhart threw her hands up. “This is why I oversee the girls and not the boys,” she muttered.

“Please,” I begged, “give him another chance. I’ll help. He won’t do it again.”

Mr. Ramírez’s face softened.

“It’s just that in Puerto Mijares we were never really apart.” My voice shook.

Mrs. Eckhart shook her head. “I’m sorry, Lucía. I have to think of the facility’s reputation and what’s best for all the girls.”

“Puerto Mijares? That’s where you’re from?” Mr. Ramírez asked.

I nodded as I tried to think of something else to convince them to let Frankie stay.

“Wait a minute. Lucía Álvarez? Are you related to Fernando Álvarez?” Mr. Ramírez searched my face as if trying to see a resemblance.

“He’s my father,” I said.

He shook his head in disbelief. “¡Increíble! The last time I saw your father, you were only four or five years old.” He turned to Mrs. Eckhart. “Lucía’s father is the one I told you about. Why I took this job. That man helped me when I had no money. He even paid for the medicines that my youngest needed.”

Mrs. Eckhart smiled at me. “Sounds like your father is a very special person.”

Mr. Ramírez placed his hands on Frankie’s shoulders. “He didn’t even want to be repaid. Said that someday I’d help another child and that’d be repayment enough.” He paused to look at Frankie and me. “Martha, we can’t separate them.”

Hope filled my heart. Frankie just crossed his arms and kept the defiant look in his eye.

“But we can’t make an exception. It wouldn’t be fair to the other children and …” Mrs. Eckhart faced Frankie. “I’m sorry, I just don’t trust that you’ll follow the rules.”

Mr. Ramírez snapped his fingers. “I’ve got it! What if they take the place of Barbara and José Camacho? They left with a relative this morning, so we have an opening with the Baxter family.”

Mrs. Eckhart pursed her lips. “It’s not the way things are normally done … we have a process.”

“What’s normal these days?” Mr. Ramírez paused, gauging Mrs. Eckhart’s reaction. “Martha, I owe it to their father. It’s the least I can do.”

My heart pounded. This might be our only chance.

Mrs. Eckhart gave a slight nod, relenting.

“¡Perfecto! Now you two can stay together, but the flight is scheduled for this morning and—”

“We’ll do it!” I said.

“Yes, but you should know a few things,” Mr. Ramírez added.

“¿Qué?” I waited for the catch. There was always a catch.

“Most of the foster families live in different parts of the country and speak very little Spanish.”

“I know.” I looked at Mrs. Eckhart. “Are we going to Oregon like Angela?” I dreaded the idea of living so far away from Cuba, in a cold place, but at least Frankie and I would be together.

“Oh no. Not that far away. This family lives near Grand Island, Nebraska.” Mr. Ramírez glanced over at Mrs. Eckhart. “That reminds me, we’ll have to contact the Baxters, let them know about the change.” Mr. Ramírez gave me a wink. “But I’m sure there won’t be a problem. You’re in agreement with all of this, right, Lucía?”

“Sí,” I said, although inside I was trying to remember where Nebraska was on the map. I thought it was one of the states in the middle of the country, but if we were going to an island, then it had to be on the coast. Maybe it would look like Cuba.

“You’re good with this, too, Frankie?” Mr. Ramírez dropped to one knee and looked Frankie squarely in the eye. “Remember that you’ll be a guest in their home. No funny business. I don’t want to hear any complaints, because I won’t be able to help you again, ¿comprendes?”

Frankie smiled. “If I can be with Lucy and take care of her, then I’ll be okay.”

I shook my head. Frankie, my hero.

“All right, it’s settled. I’ll take care of the paperwork and sending a telegram to your parents telling them of the change. Mrs. Eckhart will make sure you go back to your own beds and get a few more hours of sleep. You can pack your bags right after breakfast.”

I stifled a laugh. Pack? There wasn’t anyone at the camp who had ever unpacked.

*  *  *  *  *

“I can’t believe you’re leaving before me,” Angela muttered as she scooped up the last of her cereal. “You going to eat that?” She pointed to my untouched toast.

“No, I’m not really hungry.” I slid the plate toward her.

Most of the girls in the dining hall were finishing their breakfasts and dropping off their trays at the door. Classes were about to start, and another day of waiting, waiting for real life to begin, lay ahead.

“Are you excited?” Angela asked.

“I don’t know. It’s happening so fast, I’m not sure how I feel.” I stirred my soggy cereal.

“I think it’s great. You said it’s an island, right? Maybe their house will be on the beach. Plus, don’t you want to be with your brother?”

“Of course. It’s just, well, who knows what these people are like. Besides, here everyone else is like us.”

“I’m sure they’re nice. Why else would they agree to take you in?”

I stayed quiet. Frankie’s fears about being slaves suddenly didn’t seem so far-fetched.

“Look, I’ve got to get to class. You’ve got my address in Cuba. When we’re back home, write to me and tell me how your summer went. I’ll let you know all about Oregon, okay?” Angela walked around the table and gave me a hug.

“Sure, maybe you can come to my quinces in November.”

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Cuídate, Angela,” I said as she picked up her tray.

“You take care, too. See you in Cuba.”