Return to Sender (5 page)

Instead, his mom tries to explain. “It's not really a secret. Everyone around here is hiring Mexicans, so we're all in this together.”

Tyler waits because there's got to be more, but there isn't more. “So, if they're Mexicans, how can they go to school?” After all, you can't vote if you're not American. Tyler's not real sure of the rules. He wishes now he'd spent more time paying attention when Ms. Swenson went over the Constitution last year.

“Of course they can go to school. In fact, I already checked with Mrs. Stevens and she said any child who wants to learn is welcome at Bridgeport.

“This is why this is a great country,” Mom goes on. She seems relieved to drop the subject of keeping the Mexicans secret. “We believe in public education. And many of us who still remember what it really means to be an American welcome outsiders, especially those who have come here to help us.”

Good thing his mom added that last part about coming to help us. Tyler hates to admit it, but after September 11, he's a little scared of strangers from other countries who might be plotting to destroy the United States of America. It'd be worse than losing the farm, losing his whole country! Where would he and his family go?

“So, Tiger, would you please just say hello? Maybe take them some of your old board games and stuff.”

Great, now Tyler has to be not only a friendly American but Santa Claus.

“Sara mentioned that they had some letters to mail, so if you could pick them up, okay?”

And also, the postman …

“Those brownies by the door—”

“M-o-o-o-m!” Tyler draws out her name.

“Don't worry, I kept some for us.” She smiles, as if that's what Tyler's reluctance is all about. “Remember, if it hadn't been for them coming …”

“Okay, okay,” Tyler groans. Next thing he knows, his mom will start in on how they are angels sent by God. Tyler might as well face it: he's going to have to be grateful for a long time for being able to stay on their farm.

“Knock, knock,” Tyler says instead of knocking on the door of the trailer. They know he's here. He saw three faces peering through the window.

It seems like forever before the door finally opens. Standing before him is a lineup of three girls, the tallest one directly in front of him. They look a lot alike, very tanned with black hair and big dark eyes, each one slightly smaller, like those dolls Aunt Roxie once gave Sara: one inside the other inside another.

“Hi,” Tyler says. He knows for a fact that his mom is watching out the kitchen window. He has got to put in at least five minutes of welcome or he is going to be sent back for more. But these three girls aren't making it easy. They look scared of him. In fact, the oldest is staring at him like he's some creature from outer space. “I live here,” he tries again. “My name's Tyler.” When she doesn't offer her name, Tyler wonders if any of them speak English.
“¡Hola!”
he says, remembering the greeting from Spanish class.
“Mi nombre es Tyler.”

“You speak Spanish?” the girl before him asks in pretty good English.

“I speak Spanish, too,” the littlest one chimes in. “In Spanish my name is Lubyneida—”

“María Lubyneida,” the second one corrects. “I'm María Ofelia. But everyone calls me Ofie. And everyone calls her Luby,” she adds, pointing to the littlest one. “She's María Dolores, Mari for short.” She points to the tallest, though not by much.

“So you're all María Something,” Tyler observes smartly.

In Spanish class Ms. Ramírez said María was a real popu-lar name in Spanish. But this is ridiculous. Even the cows without names get their very own ear- tag numbers. Tyler's just glad his mom didn't insist on naming him Abelard like his dad. He's got too many hand-me-downs, being the youngest, to have to put up with a worn- out name also. “So what's Mexico like?” He can't think of anything else to ask.

“I've never been,” the middle one says.

“Me either,” says the littlest. “Only Mari.”

So much for them being Mexicans.

“We came from North Carolina,” the little one explains.

“We've got a cow named Carolina,” Tyler offers, to make up for the fact that he has never been anywhere except Boston. “We actually name all our cows after states. Well, we used to.” Back when the herd was a lot smaller, many cows had names. But now with two hundred head, it's only the show cows that have names. The rest just have numbers on ear tags.

“How come you do that?” the middle one asks.

“Give ‘em ear tags?”

“How come you name the cows after the United States?” the middle one persists. She seems to be the big mouth in the family.

Tyler shrugs. Many of the things that his family does were decided long before he had a vote. “That's the way it's always been done,” he's always told if he questions why. But in this case, anyway, Tyler thinks it's kind of cool naming cows after states. It makes up for the fact that their farm doesn't have a name. Everyone just calls it the Paquette farm, but since there are a lot of Paquettes, that can get con-fusing. They've tried out a bunch of names—Happy Valley Farm, Sunset View Farm, Windy Acres Farm—but by the time Dad has gotten around to having a sign made, every-one's grown tired of the agreed- upon name. Only one of Tyler's choices ever made it to a final round: Milky Way Farm, which Sara vetoed on account of it sounded too much like a candy bar, one she didn't especially like.

Out of the blue, the oldest, who seems to be the shyest, asks Tyler, “How are you feeling?”

“Fine.” Maybe it's a custom for Mexicans to ask after your health? Ms. Ramírez has said that they are very courteous.

“So do you have two Carolina cows, one for North and one for South?” the middle one asks. She is headed for the honor roll at Bridgeport, Tyler can see that. But just like that, she's giggling. That's a joke?

“In Spanish, you have to say Carolina del Norte.” The little one is explaining partly to Tyler, partly to a scruffy stuffed puppy she holds under one arm. It's like she just figured out there are two languages and she has to match them up.

“We were born there,” Ofie, the middle one, adds, pointing to her little sister and herself. “Mari was born—” Before she can finish, the oldest one has clapped a hand over Ofie's mouth. End of that conversation.

“I wasn't going to say anything!” Ofie says, pulling her older sister's hand away.

“Yes, you were,” little Luby pipes up. And before anyone can stop her she says, “You were going to say that Mari was born in Mexico.”

“Thanks a lot!” Mari cries. She turns on her heels and runs down the hall of the trailer. A moment later a door bangs.

“What happened?” Luby asks, her bottom lip quivering.

Ofie shrugs. “She's just sensitive. Want to come in?” she asks Tyler, stepping to one side of the door.

Tyler isn't sure he wants to come into a house where three girls are having a fight over something silly like where they were born. “I better go,” he says. “Gotta help milk the cows.”

“Which one?” little Luby wants to know.

It takes Tyler a moment to figure out what the little girl is asking. “Boston,” he says. It's the first name that pops into his head, probably because he's just been there. It's only on his way back to his house with Life and Candy Land still under his arm that he remembers that Boston isn't really a state. But then, he can't recall ever naming a cow Massa-chusetts.

“How did the visit go?” his mom asks Tyler at dinner. Sara is still down in Boston until the weekend, when Uncle Tony and Aunt Roxie will bring her back. Ben's supposed to start classes at the University of Vermont on Monday, so he has a few days left at home. After Dad's accident on the heels of Gramps's death, Tyler's older brother considered delaying college for a year, but his mom insisted he continue with his plans. The Mexican workers are helping them stave off having to sell the farm while they decide if Dad is going to recover enough to be able to manage, even if he doesn't do the actual work. Meanwhile, Mom has already started her service days at the high school, where she is a math teacher.

“They're such sweet girls, don't you think?” His mom obviously is not satisfied with Tyler's shrug as enough of a description of how the visit went.

“They're okay,” Tyler says. If he makes them sound too okay, his mom will be sending him over there often. But if he complains, she will consider it a good character- building challenge for Tyler to befriend them. Maybe, hopefully very soon, now that Tyler's entering sixth grade, his mom will realize that he is not a little baby whom she has to keep improving or hiding things from.

“In a few years, Tyler bro, you'll be glad if Mom's throwing you at three pretty girls.” Ben reaches over to ruffle Tyler's hair. Tyler bats away his brother's hand. He'd feel even more annoyed at Ben's disgusting comment if it weren't that his older brother will be moving into a dorm in a few days. Ben's still planning to come home on weekends to help out at the farm, but it won't be the same. Leave- taking is in the air. The swallows in the barn haven't yet left, but Tyler knows any morning now, he'll go into the barn and feel an eerie silence that will make his heart ache.

“I was thinking …,” Mom sighs. Tyler braces himself. He can tell when his mother is about to have a good idea, just like he can tell when a hen is about to lay an egg.

“Maybe, what do you think”—the question is addressed to the room in general, but Tyler knows he's going to be stuck with the consequences of his mom's brainstorm—”I was thinking of maybe inviting the girls over on Saturdays to help me around the house, pay them a little spending money?”

“You know what would really be great?” Ben adds. “If they could go over and visit Grandma. She's so lonely.” Most every night when she isn't at Uncle Larry's or Aunt Jeanne's in town, Grandma comes over for dinner or at the very least dessert and a visit. Any little memory sets her crying.

Tyler looks down at his plate, not offering an opinion. He is thinking that with Ben away at college, and his dad often half asleep on the couch on pain medication, that means it'll be just him, Tyler, the sole boy, and three little girls, plus Mom and Sara and often Grandma as well. He's going to feel totally outnumbered.

“They had a fight,” Tyler offers. He wasn't going to bring it up until now, when his mom might balance her good idea for company against commotion in the house.

“A fight fight or a disagreement?” His mom would make that distinction.

“The older one ran off crying and locked herself in the bedroom.”

That piques Mom's interest. “What about?”

And now Tyler's curiosity takes over. Why did Mari get so upset? He explains that the two little sisters were telling how they were born in North Carolina and then when they told him the oldest was born in Mexico, she started to cry. “They're also all named María.” He doesn't know why he threw that in. For the first time in his life, he has met people who are really different. It doesn't exactly upset him so much as make him realize he's just one of a zillion people. Like finding out in Sunday school that God loves everyone the same, whereas Tyler was hoping that maybe God had reserved a special place in his heart just for Tyler. “He has,” Mrs. Hollister, the minister's wife, told Amanda Davis in Sunday school when she asked the very thing Tyler was thinking. “God's heart is vast enough for everyone to have a special place in it.”

“I think I understand,” his mom is saying. She exchanges a look with Dad and Ben.

“What?” Tyler wants to know. He hates this feeling that the grown- ups are keeping some secret from him. In a couple of weeks, he's starting sixth grade, for crying out loud. “What's wrong with her being born in Mexico?” But Mom is suddenly busy removing the serving dishes from the table.