Another thing Tyler feels bad about is the closing down of their Christmas tree farm. It isn't really a whole farm, just three acres that Gramps set aside to plant evergreens in rows, now going on ten years, which means some of the trees are sizeable, candidates if not for the White House at least for the statehouse down in Montpelier. Blue spruces and balsam firs and Scotch pines.

Every year, folks have come by and left their fifteen bucks in a can by the shed, where they've picked up a saw and gone off to cut down their very own tree. One year, some guys from a fraternity at UVM came by on a Sat.u.r.day afternoon with a twelve- pack, and before they left, they'd cut down Gramps's prized tamarack that had nothing at all to do with Christmas. That was when Gramps took down the sign on the road that read cut your own Christmas tree-$15. Then it was only word of mouth: neighbors and friends for whom cutting down their Christmas tree at the Paquette farm had become a part of their holiday tradition.

But this year, not only will there be no sign on the road, there also won't be a coffee can on the picnic table or saws in the shed. Grandma and Tyler's parents have decided it's too risky having a whole lot of folks coming on the farm and maybe spotting their Mexican workers going in and out of the barn. Not with one of them already in jail.

Of course, Aunt Jeanne and Uncle Larry have come to get their trees. At the last minute, Grandma decides to put up a tree for the girls, who otherwise won't have one. Grandma has always been big on decorating for holidays and has boxes of ornaments up in the attic, as well as a file folder full of recipes for every kind of Christmas cookie you could think of. The church always holds a Christmas bazaar, stocked primarily by Grandma and her friends: baked goodies and caps and stockings and stuff they've made. This year Grandma has invited the youth group to come and cut down a whole bunch of trees to sell. Afterward, the field looks so forlorn, it reminds Tyler of a tree version of the French Rev-olution his cla.s.s read about when lords and ladies got their heads cut off on a guillotine.

But the saddest of all is how the Cruzes next door are worried sick about Felipe, the younger uncle, whom Tyler likes the best of the three men. Felipe plays the guitar and knows more English than he lets on, plus he loves making jokes. Like the one about having a girlfriend, Wilmita, that turns out to be his guitar! Tyler's mom has called the sheriff's office so often that now no one is available to take her call except the operator, who has to since it's her job. Finally, through Larry's friend, they find out that Felipe is in a pickle of trouble, as Grandma calls it. Not only is he going to have to go through a criminal trial on account of he fled from the authorities, but after he's convicted and sentenced and served his time for that offense, he'll have to go through a deportation hearing as well.

"He'll be middle- aged by the time he gets out of there." Mom is beside herself. She calls a group of lawyers up in Burlington who help poor people in trouble for whatever they can afford to pay. She finds one who is willing to donate his services for free to see if they can't get Felipe deported without having to make him into a criminal first.

But even with a lawyer on board, it's the holiday season, so cases are stacking up and everything is moving a lot slower than it normally would. But the good news in all this bad news is that Felipe is actually being held in the local county jail, where prisoners can receive visitors on Satur-days and Sundays from ten to three, one- hour slots, first-come, first-served. Mom signs them up for the only slot left open, ten o'clock Sat.u.r.day morning.

"But we can't go see him," Mari reminds Tyler when he gives her the news. They're in the kitchen, helping Grandma make her gingerbread house. Going to the county jail without papers would be basically like turning themselves in.

Tyler never thought of that. Still, somebody will have to translate for Mom and the lawyer. "I know!" Tyler says. "How about Ms. Ramirez?" Their Spanish teacher was born in Texas, but her parents came from Mexico. It's a brilliant idea except her number isn't in the phone book.

"We could just go house to house asking for her," Grandma suggests as she lays another wafer shingle on the roof of her gingerbread house.

Mari thinks Grandma is serious. "It'd be just like the posadas." posadas." Mari goes on to explain how for a whole week before Christmas, Mexican kids have a kind of trick-or-treat where they go from house to house pretending to be Mary and Joseph. At each house, they ask if there's any room at the inn. Everyone turns them away until the last house of that night, where they're let in and have a party and break a pinata with candy and treats for all the kids. The very last night of the Mari goes on to explain how for a whole week before Christmas, Mexican kids have a kind of trick-or-treat where they go from house to house pretending to be Mary and Joseph. At each house, they ask if there's any room at the inn. Everyone turns them away until the last house of that night, where they're let in and have a party and break a pinata with candy and treats for all the kids. The very last night of the posadas posadas is on Christmas Eve and the last house that night has a really big party because it's the actual night the whole story happened. Grandma thinks is on Christmas Eve and the last house that night has a really big party because it's the actual night the whole story happened. Grandma thinks posadas posadas are a great idea, which she's going to bring up at the next church committee meeting as something the youth group can do right here in Vermont. are a great idea, which she's going to bring up at the next church committee meeting as something the youth group can do right here in Vermont.

Although Ms. Ramirez isn't in the phone book, Mrs. Stevens is. Mari doesn't want her princ.i.p.al to know that her uncle's been picked up by the police. So Grandma calls Mrs. Stevens and tells her an elaborate story about how she wants to give her friend Martha Spanish lessons for Christmas, as their youth group is considering going to Mexico on their service trip next summer, and so can she please have Ms. Ramirez's phone number? For a churchgoing person, Grandma sure knows how to tell a good lie.

By the next night, it's all set, Ms. Ramirez and Tyler's mom and the lawyer from Burlington are all going to visit Felipe on Sat.u.r.day, which happens to be Christmas Eve day. But get this. Visitors cannot bring any packages or presents or clothes or food or anything to the prisoners even though it's the day before Christmas!

"I feel just like Mary and Joseph at all the posada posada stops where they're turned away," Mari says, tearing up. "No room for us in this country." stops where they're turned away," Mari says, tearing up. "No room for us in this country."

"But there's room for you here on our farm," Tyler tells her. They are outside while Ofie and Luby help Grandma finish up the lawn on the gingerbread house. Tyler is teaching Mari the winter constellations. Orion, the hunter, wears his belt of three stars. To the west, a bunch of little stars glitter like teensy blue diamonds. "They're the Pleiades, the seven sisters," Tyler says.

Mari is momentarily distracted. "Seven? I only count six."

"You're not supposed to see all seven," he explains. "One of them is so dim you can only see her with a telescope. She's supposed to be missing or hiding out or something."

"Why?" Mari wants to know. Tyler has noticed this before, how Mari is always so intrigued when the subject of someone missing comes up. The day Mrs. Stevens and the school counselor talked to their cla.s.s about missing children and the appropriate behavior if a stranger approaches you, Mari, who never asks questions, wanted to know all about what to do if someone was missing in your family. Mari has told Tyler that one of the things she likes the most about astronomy is how you can use the stars to guide your way, so you never ever have to be lost. "How come that sister star got separated from the others?"

Actually, Tyler can't remember. It's some Greek myth. He'll have to look it up in his star book.

"I know," Mari proposes. "She's crossing the sky to get back to her six sisters. But when she gets to the Milky Way, there's no bridge. So she asks that constellation that's the charioteer."

"So does she get across or what?" Tyler is now the one intrigued. Maybe astronomers should hire Mari to make up new stories about the constellations. Hers would probably be a lot better than all those dumb Greek G.o.ds falling in love with mere mortals. Suddenly, Tyler is aware that Mari is not looking up anymore, but looking straight at him.

"Can I tell you something, Tyler?" When he nods, Mari goes on. "You know how I said my mother might be calling us?"

Of course he remembers. He and Sara both thought it was weird that the girls' mother wouldn't know where they are.

"My mother, she went to Mexico last December," Mari begins. "And then when my abuelita abuelita died, my mother left Mexico to come back, but she never showed up, and my fa-ther, he tried to find her, but no one could tell him where she was." Mari pauses to catch her breath, as if she might drown in the torrent of words tumbling out of her mouth. died, my mother left Mexico to come back, but she never showed up, and my fa-ther, he tried to find her, but no one could tell him where she was." Mari pauses to catch her breath, as if she might drown in the torrent of words tumbling out of her mouth.

"We've waited and waited. A whole year now. My fa-ther, I can tell, doesn't think she's going to come back. And my sisters, too. But how can somebody just disappear?"

"You think maybe something ... happened to your mom?" Tyler hates bringing it up, but it's clear Mari really wants to talk about it.

Instead of going ballistic like she usually does when Tyler has suggested her mother might be dead, Mari begins to cry. Tyler has no idea what to do when a girl cries- except get her to stop. "But maybe it's like the seventh sister, Mari. Maybe your mom is just lost and trying to find her way back to you." Just saying the words, Tyler has himself half believing it could be so.

And Mari is believing it, too. The sobs turn into sniffles. "You think so? Oh, I think so, too. But sometimes ... some-times, I just worry. And I can't talk to my father or my sisters and worry them more."

Tyler knows all about how hard it is to talk to adults. "Gramps is the only one I can really talk to. I mean, when he was alive," he corrects himself. "Gramps used to tell me to look up when I felt down."

"Fell down?" Mari doesn't quite understand.

"Feel down, like when you're really, really sad." down, like when you're really, really sad."

"Look up when you feel down," Mari repeats, looking up.

Looking up with her is what gives Tyler the idea. Tomorrow night, he's going to bring the telescope over to Grandma's. He can't give Mari her mother, but he can at least show her the seventh star reunited with her sisters.

His mom and dad and grandma are determined that the girls will have a nice Christmas. Especially now that the whole story is unraveling that their mother has actually been missing for a full year and probably died on the dangerous border crossing. There is a small chance, a chance Tyler is really hoping for, that the mother is alive and trying to reach the family. But the calls have stopped. That's what comes of an older sister with a big mouth threatening the caller with the police.

"How was I supposed to know?" Sara defends herself when the whole Cruz situation comes up. Everybody in the family is feeling the tug of guilt: Mom and Dad for hiring them and enabling a sad situation, Ben for getting Felipe into the mess he's in, Sara for possibly scaring the mom away from ever calling again, Tyler for shunning them when they first came to the farm.

"What do you think we should get them for Christmas?" Mom wonders. Tomorrow she has a trip planned to the bigbox stores across the lake. Since the Christmas tree farm is closed down this year, Tyler doesn't have the cut that Gramps always gave him for helping run the operation. So a group present would be great, especially with three girls and three men to shop for. Actually, two men. The third isn't even allowed a phone card.

"Have the girls mentioned anything they might want?" Mom asks Tyler. You'd think he was the resident expert on the three Marias.

Tyler shrugs. The one time he asked the girls what all they were getting for Christmas, they explained that there'd be no gifts this year. Money is tight now that there are only two sons working to send the same amount home. Besides, their father can't risk going off the farm to shop. Tyler's mom used to take them all once a week to the Wal- Mart across the lake. Now they just make a list and Mom gets them whatever they need.

But that same morning in the milk barn, Mr. Cruz pulls Tyler over. He unfolds some pages torn out of a flyer and points to a stuffed dog that could be the rich, glossy cousin of the sc.r.a.ppy puppy Luby carts around, a cardboard dollhouse with a sack of teensy furniture, and a very pretty purple backpack with pink b.u.t.terflies. He counts out five twenty-dollar bills from the zippered pocket in his jacket. "Maria, Ofelia, Lubyneida," he says. "Santa."

Tyler understands. The backpack is probably for Mari, since she's too old for a stuffed animal or dollhouse. But what will his own family get her and her sisters? Tyler drops by the trailer, hoping to tease out something else the girls might want.

No problem getting Ofie and Luby to rattle off a list a mile long. But Mari shakes her head like she's too proud to ask for what she knows she can't get. Tyler says nothing about the money in his pocket. Although Mr. Cruz didn't say so, Tyler a.s.sumes that the gifts are meant to be a surprise. "Santa might just want to leave you presents at our house. Come on, Mari," he coaxes. "There must be something something you want?" you want?"

Mari gives him a fierce look, tempered by the tears glinting in her eyes. "Okay, I'll tell you what I want. I want my mother to come back. I want my uncle Felipe to come back."

"Me too," says little Luby. "That's what I want, too."

Ofie looks torn. She doesn't want to give up the dollhouse or the Strawberry Shortcake Fruity Beauty Salon or the new Barbie in a skating outfit. "I know," she pipes up, her face brightening. "We can ask Santa for presents and then we can ask the Three Kings to bring both Mama and Tio Felipe back." She looks hopefully at her sisters.

"We're not going to get anything from anybody," Mari reminds her in a scolding voice.

"You are too!" Tyler puts in.

For a moment, a look of yearning comes on Mari's face, like a break of sunshine on a cloudy day. She hesitates. "Maybe ... maybe if we could just know my mother is okay, my uncle is okay..." Her voice fades away. She bows her head, trying to keep her tears to herself.

If only those were things Tyler could give her! Instead, that afternoon in the crowded store, Tyler helps his mom pick out a little boxed set of stationery, as Mari is always writing letters, and for Ofie and Luby, a puzzle with puppies and coloring books and crayons. He finds the gifts Mr. Cruz asked for, and from himself, he decides on a packet of glow-in-the-dark stars Mari can paste to the ceiling in the trailer. That'll bring a smile to her face. Christmas tears are just the worst unless they're the kind that spring to your eyes when you are so touched, your happiness has to borrow from your sadness. As he stands in the checkout line with his mom and Sara, Tyler is amazed how thinking of making Mari happy has lifted the dark cloud that was hanging over his own holiday.

Early Christmas Eve morning Mari comes over with a letter for Tyler's mom to deliver to her uncle. Mom glances at it a long moment, sighs, then hands it back. "I'm sorry, honey, but we're not allowed to bring anything in. They're no-contact visits. But tell you what," Mom adds, because Mari is looking just like Mary and Joseph every time the door bangs shut in their faces on those posada posada nights. "What I can do is tell him whatever you want, okay?" nights. "What I can do is tell him whatever you want, okay?"

"Tell him we miss him," Mari says in a quivering voice. "Tell him we love him."

"I will, I promise. Please, don't be sad." Mom puts her arms around the young girl. "We're going to do all we can to get your uncle home as soon as possible, either to Mexico or here."

Mari manages a small smile that Tyler can tell costs her a big effort to muster. It makes him feel even sadder than if she'd burst into tears. When she heads outside, he follows. "Give me the letter." Tyler doesn't know how he's going to do it. But it's one thing he knows Mari really wants for Christmas. "I'll get it to your uncle, promise."

Mari hesitates. "But your mother said ...", she begins. Then that hopeful look comes on her face again as she hands over the folded- up pieces of notebook paper. It goes through Tyler's mind that it's too bad that Mari didn't have the box of stationery the Paquettes are giving her tomorrow for writing her uncle a letter today.

"Tyler," she calls after him. "Thank you."

Don't thank me yet, he feels like saying. But then, he has until tomorrow to make good on his Christmas promise.

Tyler must have inherited his grandmother's storytelling genes, because he tells his mom a pretty good tale about why he has to visit Felipe in prison this morning.

"I promised Mari to bring her back a personal report."

"I can do that," Mom says, eyeing him closely. "Besides, I'm not sure they let in kids."

"I'm not a kid," Tyler declares.

"I know you're not." Mom smiles fondly. The thin edge of the wedge is in the door. "But they're going to take one look at my little man in his boy disguise and say no."

"Please, Mom." Tyler can see that his mother is struggling to find reasons why he can't visit. Before she can begin numbering them, he goes on. "Remember how you asked me to find out what the Cruzes wanted for Christmas? This is what Mari told me she wants."

His mother considers, then sighs, giving in. "I guess there's no harm in trying. Worst comes to worst, you can wait in the car."

Ms. Ramirez arrives with the lawyer. At first, Tyler thinks the redheaded man in jeans with a teensy earring in one ear must be his Spanish teacher's boyfriend. But no, it's Caleb Calhoun, the free lawyer from Burlington. When Mom asks him if it's going to be okay to bring Tyler along, Mr. Calhoun just shrugs. "It'll depend on the deputy, if he's having a good day." What kind of a lawyer answer is that? No wonder he's free!

But at the county jail, they're in luck. The deputy in charge today is Uncle Larry's friend. What's more, he's in a holiday mood. He doesn't say a thing about Tyler being a kid. As for the rule about each prisoner being allowed only three visitors at a time, the deputy can't see any harm in this foursome, as one's a lawyer and another's the translator. "That makes two visitors by my count."

He leads them up some stairs and down a long hallway to the visitation room. "Anything on your person you got to leave behind in one of them," he says, pointing to a row of tiny lockers lining one side of the hallway. On the other side are small high windows with bars. It's the first real sign that this is a jail instead of a hallway at the high school or the boys' locker room at the gym. To enter the room, they have to walk through a metal detector. Mom has to leave her car keys in a little basket, but Mr. Calhoun is allowed a pen and pad. Thank goodness letters don't set off any alarms, Tyler thinks as he goes through the doorway with Mari's folded- up letter in his pants pocket.

The room is small, with a gla.s.s wall at the far end. In front of it are two chairs and a narrow counter with a phone on top. On the other side of the gla.s.s, the same arrange-ment. It turns out that prisoners and visitors talk by phone, looking at each other through that thick, probably bulletproof gla.s.s. Now Tyler understands what his mom meant by a no-contact visit. There is no way he's going to be able to hand over Mari's letter.

"Just call me when you're done," the deputy says, nodding at a wall phone by the door. As he leaves, locking them in, Tyler feels a jolt of fear. And here he's just visiting. visiting. Imagine what Felipe must be feeling. Imagine what Felipe must be feeling.

After a few minutes, the door on the other side of the gla.s.s part.i.tion opens. The same deputy leads Felipe out and nods to where he's supposed to sit. Felipe looks around war-ily like he might have been dropped off in some room where he's going to be tortured. When he spots Tyler and Mom standing on the other side of the gla.s.s, his face breaks into a huge grin. Tyler waves to him and he waves back.

First Mom introduces Ms. Ramirez and Mr. Calhoun. They sit in the two front chairs, handing the phone back and forth, Mr. Calhoun explaining, Ms. Ramirez translating. They tell Felipe what all is in store for him. The crim-inal hearing once the holidays are over. The sentencing. Then the deportation hearing. Even though Tyler can't hear what Felipe is saying at his end, he can tell that the poor guy is getting more and more heavyhearted with the news.

"Please do a.s.sure him that I'm going to try to get this criminal stuff dropped. Ask him if he's got any kind of a record."

Felipe shakes his head when Ms. Ramirez translates. But then he hesitates and tells some crazy story about a little dog in North Carolina that a lady he worked for thought he stole. Maybe she reported him to the police. Mr. Calhoun takes notes.

When it's finally Tyler's turn, he feels awkward and shy, like when he has to talk on the phone to Aunt Roxie and Uncle Tony. "Hola, como estas?" "Hola, como estas?" he starts. Behind him, he can feel Ms. Ramirez beaming at how good his Spanish p.r.o.nunciation has gotten. he starts. Behind him, he can feel Ms. Ramirez beaming at how good his Spanish p.r.o.nunciation has gotten.

Felipe seems genuinely happy to visit with Tyler. He rattles off some stuff in Spanish, but every once in a while he switches into English. How're Mari, Ofie, Luby? Mis hermanos? Mis hermanos? which Tyler knows means his brothers. Please give them my greetings. And Sara and Tyler's dad? And Ben? Tell Ben not to feel bad. How's Oklahoma, Wyoming, Nevada? And Wilmita? Is she very sad? which Tyler knows means his brothers. Please give them my greetings. And Sara and Tyler's dad? And Ben? Tell Ben not to feel bad. How's Oklahoma, Wyoming, Nevada? And Wilmita? Is she very sad?

Tyler laughs. Even behind bars, on the other side of bulletproof gla.s.s, Felipe hasn't lost his sense of humor.

"I have a letter for you," Tyler finally says, reaching into his pocket. He can't read it because, of course, it's in Span-ish. Somehow, he knows having Ms. Ramirez read it over the phone won't be the same as Felipe reading it himself. So he unfolds the letter and holds page after page flat against the gla.s.s, half expecting some alarm to go off.

Tyler doesn't know what the letter says, but as Felipe's eyes move across each page, his face softens with feeling. When he is done with the last page, he puts his palm on the gla.s.s where the paper is, then rests his head on the back of his hand. Tyler tries to hold his own hand steady, willing himself not to cry.

When Felipe drops his hand, Tyler can see he, too, is fighting back tears. He really is just a kid, no disguising it, with man-sized troubles.

"Thank you, my friend," he tells Tyler in English over the phone. "My Christmas today."

This is what Christmas is all about, Tyler thinks as they drive home. What Mary and Joseph must feel at that last posada posada house when the door flies open and there's room for them inside after all. Tyler can't wait to tell Mari exactly how he delivered her letter. In fact, he decides to write down everything that Felipe said and put it in a card and give it to Mari as a present tomorrow. house when the door flies open and there's room for them inside after all. Tyler can't wait to tell Mari exactly how he delivered her letter. In fact, he decides to write down everything that Felipe said and put it in a card and give it to Mari as a present tomorrow.

Back home, he is writing away when the phone starts ringing down the hall. It's probably Mari calling for the Cruzes to find out how the visit went. But no, the minute they arrived, his mother and Ms. Ramirez and Mr. Calhoun headed for the trailer with their report. They did promise not to tell Mari about Tyler's surprise.

Down the hall in the kitchen, Sara is saying, "Un momento, por favor." "Un momento, por favor."

And then she is calling for Tyler in this excited, house-on-fire voice. "Tyler!!! Tyler!!! Run next door and get one of the Cruzes. I think it's the mother!"

Tyler bolts out of his house like it is on fire. But the only thing burning is the happy tears in his eyes, borrowed from his sadness. He can't believe it himself, but merry Christmas! Mari may be getting every one of her wishes after all!

24 diciembre 2005 Querido Tio Felipe, We have been so worried about you since that horrible night three weeks ago when the patron's patron's wife came over with the news that you had been stopped by the police. wife came over with the news that you had been stopped by the police.(Although this letter is in Spanish, I don't want to mention any names and get anybody in trouble. My family's won't matter since n.o.body at the jail knows us anyhow.)Neither Papa nor Tio Armando realized that you were going off the farm when you accepted the invitation from the patron's patron's son. They a.s.sumed the party would take place at the son. They a.s.sumed the party would take place at the patron's patron's house. But they say that they don't blame you. You deserve a little fiesta now and then after the hard way you have been working to help the whole house. But they say that they don't blame you. You deserve a little fiesta now and then after the hard way you have been working to help the whole familia familia since you were fourteen and came to this country! And before that, Papa has told us, when you were even younger than little Luby, you were already helping Abuelote farm in Las Margaritas. since you were fourteen and came to this country! And before that, Papa has told us, when you were even younger than little Luby, you were already helping Abuelote farm in Las Margaritas.Finally, thanks to the Virgen of Guadalupe, to whom I made a special pet.i.tion, we have found out where you are. We feel so much calmer knowing you are close by, even if you are behind bars. I don't think any of us in the family could stand someone else we love disappearing, like Mama has disappeared. (Ten days ago marked one whole year since we last saw her. I cried so hard.... But I don't want to make you any sadder.)Papa and Tio Armando want me to send you special thanks for running away away from the farm rather than leading from the farm rather than leading la migra la migra here by returning home. "That brother of ours has courage!" Papa and Tio Armando have both said many, many times. here by returning home. "That brother of ours has courage!" Papa and Tio Armando have both said many, many times.So, even though this country is treating you like a criminal, you are our hero! I speak for all of us, including my little sisters. We want you to know what we have asked for from the American Santa Claus and from the Three Kings: your safe and quick return to our family, either here or in Mexico.Early this morning, as I was writing this letter, Ofie asked what I was doing."Writing to our uncle. I will give the letter to the patron's patron's wife to deliver." wife to deliver.""What are you writing about?" she kept pestering. You know how nosy Ofie can be!I wanted to scold her to leave me alone so I could finish the letter before the patron's patron's wife left for the jail. But it being the day before Christmas, I tried to be patient and explain that I was telling our uncle that what I wanted for Christmas was news of his safe and quick deliverance. wife left for the jail. But it being the day before Christmas, I tried to be patient and explain that I was telling our uncle that what I wanted for Christmas was news of his safe and quick deliverance.My sister stood by like she was debating something with herself. I knew because she was biting her fingernails (which is what all three of us do when we are nervous, and Papa is always telling us not to). Finally, she said, "Tell Tio that's what I want for Christmas, too. I'm going to pray right now to Santa. I'll ask the Three Kings for my dollhouse and my Barbie and beauty salon and lip balm instead."Poor Three Kings, loaded down with all of my sister's gifts! They will definitely need another camel.Meanwhile, dear Tio, you will get nothing as we are not permitted to send you food or a gift or even a phone card. But thank goodness Santa has a whole team of reindeer to carry all the hugs and kisses we are sending you!

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoEach one is un besito un besito (x) and (x) and un abrazo un abrazo (o), (o),Mari 31 diciembre 2005 Querido Tio, This is the last day of the old year, and as Papa says, good riddance. May the new year bring you safely home! I hope that you can stay in the United States because our family is not the same without you, Tio. How we miss your beautiful guitar playing and songs and your great stories and jokes.I know you miss your guitar, too. The patron's patron's younger son told us that you asked if you could be allowed to have your Wilmita with you, but it is not permitted. It made me wonder what I would miss the most if I were locked up in a jail. Besides my family, it would be my letter writing (though I think this is permitted) and then very small things like catching snowflakes on my tongue or looking up at the stars on a clear night. younger son told us that you asked if you could be allowed to have your Wilmita with you, but it is not permitted. It made me wonder what I would miss the most if I were locked up in a jail. Besides my family, it would be my letter writing (though I think this is permitted) and then very small things like catching snowflakes on my tongue or looking up at the stars on a clear night.Maybe it just makes you miss your freedom more to hear me mention these things? But sometimes, Tio, like when you sing "La Golondrina" "La Golondrina" and feel transported back to Mexico through the song, something similar happens when I write. Mama once told me that just writing a letter to someone would make me feel less alone, and she was right! I have written to her, and even to Abuelita, and while I am writing, I feel they are back. Also, when I write you these letters, it's as if I am talking face to face with you again. And not only that, Tio, but I am able to tell you things I never could in person. and feel transported back to Mexico through the song, something similar happens when I write. Mama once told me that just writing a letter to someone would make me feel less alone, and she was right! I have written to her, and even to Abuelita, and while I am writing, I feel they are back. Also, when I write you these letters, it's as if I am talking face to face with you again. And not only that, Tio, but I am able to tell you things I never could in person.The patron's patron's wife told us that you are in jail with seven other men, and a half- dozen jailers, none of whom speak Spanish. She said that one of the deputies told her everybody feels sorry because you have no one to talk to. Which is why they allowed the wife told us that you are in jail with seven other men, and a half- dozen jailers, none of whom speak Spanish. She said that one of the deputies told her everybody feels sorry because you have no one to talk to. Which is why they allowed the patron's patron's wife to bring you that box of cookies my sisters and I made with the grandmother just for you. I'm sorry the parrots came out looking like socks with beaks. wife to bring you that box of cookies my sisters and I made with the grandmother just for you. I'm sorry the parrots came out looking like socks with beaks.We also met your lawyer, who came over with the patron's patron's wife and our Spanish teacher after their first visit to introduce himself. He doesn't look like a lawyer-don't you agree? Maybe it's his red hair or how he wears jeans and a little earring in his ear like a girl. (I know pirates wear them, too.) But he is very smart and has told me a dozen times he wants to learn Spanish so he can defend the rights of oppressed people from the impoverished Americas. When he talks like that I feel embarra.s.sed that I have a brand- new backpack and a tummy full of parrot cookies and a warm bedroom with stars on the ceiling that I'll tell you about later in this letter. wife and our Spanish teacher after their first visit to introduce himself. He doesn't look like a lawyer-don't you agree? Maybe it's his red hair or how he wears jeans and a little earring in his ear like a girl. (I know pirates wear them, too.) But he is very smart and has told me a dozen times he wants to learn Spanish so he can defend the rights of oppressed people from the impoverished Americas. When he talks like that I feel embarra.s.sed that I have a brand- new backpack and a tummy full of parrot cookies and a warm bedroom with stars on the ceiling that I'll tell you about later in this letter.First, I have very exciting news: we think Mama called! While we were meeting in the trailer after that first visit, the patron's patron's younger son came racing over to report that our mother was calling us on their telephone. We all ran out of the trailer like it was in flames, across the yard to the younger son came racing over to report that our mother was calling us on their telephone. We all ran out of the trailer like it was in flames, across the yard to the patron's patron's house. The sister was standing in the kitchen, clutching the phone to her chest like she was afraid it might run away from her. Papa grabbed it and cried out, house. The sister was standing in the kitchen, clutching the phone to her chest like she was afraid it might run away from her. Papa grabbed it and cried out, "Mi amor?" "Mi amor?" When he kept repeating the same words over and over, my heart sank. I knew what must have happened. The call had been disconnected. When he kept repeating the same words over and over, my heart sank. I knew what must have happened. The call had been disconnected.We did not know what to do! Then Sara remembered that you could hit a certain number to call back the caller, but by the time she'd gotten the phone back from Papa, who didn't want to let go, it was too late. The phone on the other end just rang and rang.After we got back to the trailer, we called Abuelota and Abuelote to see if maybe Mama had called them. But no, Abuelota said, they had not received any calls. Then every one of us got on quickly to wish them a merry Christmas. "Feliz Navidad," "Feliz Navidad," they wished us back. As we were saying goodbye, Abuelota asked, "What about Felipito? Are you not going to put him on?" they wished us back. As we were saying goodbye, Abuelota asked, "What about Felipito? Are you not going to put him on?"Papa made an excuse that you were still at work, as he did not want to worry her. But he is already wondering how we are going to handle your absence when we call again tomorrow to wish them a happy and healthy and prosperous new year.The lawyer is trying to see if the jailers can allow you a phone card. He said that prisoners are only permitted to make collect calls on the jail phone, but we explained that Abuelota and Abuelote don't own a phone, and the grocery store where they receive their calls would never accept a collect call. But the jailers have been putting aside many rules as you are a "special case." Most Mexicans are sent right down to Boston or New York to big deportation centers, but because you have a criminal charge, you have to stay in the friendly neighborhood jail until that's cleared up. Lucky-unlucky, as Papa always says about you.Before I close with all our best wishes for next year, I hope that you have noticed the beautiful stationery this letter is written on, a Christmas gift from the patron's patron's family. Now that you can receive letters, this one will be in your actual hands, not on the other side of the bulletproof gla.s.s, as the family. Now that you can receive letters, this one will be in your actual hands, not on the other side of the bulletproof gla.s.s, as the patron's patron's younger son described in a card he gave me for Christmas. And guess what else he gave me? Some beautiful little stars that you paste on your ceiling and they glow in the dark. I told the younger son described in a card he gave me for Christmas. And guess what else he gave me? Some beautiful little stars that you paste on your ceiling and they glow in the dark. I told the patron's patron's son that they must have been invented by a prisoner who missed seeing the night sky. son that they must have been invented by a prisoner who missed seeing the night sky.I am slipping one of them inside this envelope. She is like the seventh sister of the Pleiades that you can't see with just your eyes the way you can her six sister stars. But the patron's patron's younger son showed her to me with his telescope! younger son showed her to me with his telescope!Keep this lucky star until you can look at the real ones in the night sky once you are free.

Muchos besitos y abrazos,Mari

7 enero 2006 Querido Tio, Yesterday was Three Kings Day and we had a special dinner at the grandmother's house.We had told her how on Three Kings Day, Mexican people make a special cake that has nuts and fruits, which she said sounded just like fruitcake. The only thing is the American fruitcake doesn't have the little baby Jesus inside. In Mexico, whoever gets the baby in their slice has to throw a big party on February 2nd, which is Dia de la Candelaria, or Day of the Candles, when Jesus was baptized."Why, that's our Groundhog Day," the grandmother said, shaking her head. She explained how on that day Americans wait for the groundhog to tell them if winter is over. "If he comes out and doesn't see his shadow, that means an early spring. If he does, six more weeks of winter. It's ridiculous," the grandmother agreed when she saw the look on our faces. "You know, I think I must be a Mexican at heart. I like your holidays so much more than ours!"So the grandmother decided to have everyone to supper and celebrate Three Kings the Mexican way. Only thing is they don't sell baby Jesuses to put in your fruitcake here in the grocery stores. But Ofie offered to let the grandmother borrow the teensy baby that came with her dollhouse family. Guess who got the piece with the baby inside it? Me!But I won't throw a party unless you are free, which I am hoping will be soon so we can celebrate Candlemas all together.Now that we're back at school, I worry that these two mean boys in my cla.s.s will find out about you being in prison and make fun of me. It is not that I am not proud of you, Tio, just that I don't know how to defend myself against them. I am writing their full names here so the police know to look out for them, Ronnie Pellegrini and Clayton Lacroix.My Spanish teacher has promised not to say anything about your capture. She says it's n.o.body's business. We think of her as our madrina madrina because she has been like our G.o.dmother in this country. "And you are because she has been like our G.o.dmother in this country. "And you are las hijitas las hijitas I never had," she told us the other day. I didn't dare ask her why she hadn't had any kids, but you know Ofie, how bold she can be. Our I never had," she told us the other day. I didn't dare ask her why she hadn't had any kids, but you know Ofie, how bold she can be. Our madrina madrina replied that until very recently, she had not found the right man. "So why don't you have one now?" Ofie asked. Can you believe her rudeness? Thank goodness Papa was not around to correct her. Ofie might as well have said, You are getting too old, you know. Our Spanish teacher is about Papa's age, or older. replied that until very recently, she had not found the right man. "So why don't you have one now?" Ofie asked. Can you believe her rudeness? Thank goodness Papa was not around to correct her. Ofie might as well have said, You are getting too old, you know. Our Spanish teacher is about Papa's age, or older.She just laughed and told Ofie, "You better talk to my gringo about this!" That's what she calls her boyfriend, "my gringo"-to his face! She says he just laughs and calls her right back "my hot tamale"!!!!Last Monday, the government offices opened again after the holidays, so the patron's patron's wife says your criminal hearing could happen as soon as next week. We know that the deputy is getting permission for you to call Abuelota with the phone card we sent. She still just thinks you have gotten work at another farm and that is why you are calling separately. Papa says to please play along. When you are released, that is soon enough for her to know what has happened. wife says your criminal hearing could happen as soon as next week. We know that the deputy is getting permission for you to call Abuelota with the phone card we sent. She still just thinks you have gotten work at another farm and that is why you are calling separately. Papa says to please play along. When you are released, that is soon enough for her to know what has happened.We have not heard again from Mama, but Papa called his old friend in Carolina del Norte, the one who had promised to deliver our new number to the people now living in our old apartment. He said he had been delayed in his promise as he had been down in Florida picking oranges. But as soon as he got back a few weeks ago, he did drop in, and one of the men now living there said that before they disconnected the apartment phone-they all just use cell phones-several people had called for us and he had given them the number we had left taped to the wall. Papa's friend said he gave the new tenants our correct number with an urgent message that if a woman with Mama's name dropped by, to please tell her to call us immediately.Papa warns us that we must not let ourselves hope too much, but as you yourself say, Tio, hope is the poor man's bread. So I'll eat as much as I can stand with b.u.t.ter and sugar and jam-b.u.t.ter for your release, sugar for Mama's return, and jam for the big party I'm throwing once we are all reunited as a family!

With hope and esperanza, esperanza,Mari14 enero 2006 Querido Tio, This is a quick note because I did not think anyone would be visiting you today. The patron's patron's whole family went to Boston for an aunt's birthday party this weekend. whole family went to Boston for an aunt's birthday party this weekend.Papa and Tio Armando were just returning from the morning milking when we heard a car on our driveway. We always get nervous when that happens, especially with the patron's patron's family gone, but it was our Spanish teacher on her way to visit you. She wanted to know if we had any news or letters or packages to send. The sheriff is now allowing you to receive books and clothes as well as letters. They have to be left at the front desk to be checked out first to make sure there is nothing illegal hidden inside a pocket or a hollow book like we saw in a movie. family gone, but it was our Spanish teacher on her way to visit you. She wanted to know if we had any news or letters or packages to send. The sheriff is now allowing you to receive books and clothes as well as letters. They have to be left at the front desk to be checked out first to make sure there is nothing illegal hidden inside a pocket or a hollow book like we saw in a movie.So while Papa and Tio Armando quickly make up the package that accompanies this letter, I am writing to say that we heard already from the lawyer that your hearing is set for next Friday, January 20th. It might be that you are out in time for Candlemas, after all, and I will get to throw my party!Speaking of parties: the other letter I am sending along is one the patron's patron's older son brought over. It's from some girl you met that night you went to the party with him. She heard what happened and she wanted to write you. The older son brought over. It's from some girl you met that night you went to the party with him. She heard what happened and she wanted to write you. The patron's patron's older son said this girl also wants to visit you in jail if you will allow it. older son said this girl also wants to visit you in jail if you will allow it.When he heard this, Papa just scratched his head and laughed. "There's that lucky- unlucky brother of mine again!" Papa claims that you have always had the worst luck and the best luck, often side by side. "He'll come out of jail with a big fine and and a girlfriend!" a girlfriend!"I have to close as my Spanish teacher says she doesn't want to miss her visiting time slot at the jail. But please let us know if your gringa comes to visit you. Tio Armando says to tell you that he hopes that even if she is American, she is also a hot tamale!

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo,Mari 21 enero 2006 Querido Tio, We were disappointed by the news the patron's patron's wife brought us last night. We thought the hearing yesterday would decide things once and for all. But it turns out that it was just a hearing, like the word says, for the judge to hear the charges. Next Thursday, you are to return to this same judge, who will then sentence you. wife brought us last night. We thought the hearing yesterday would decide things once and for all. But it turns out that it was just a hearing, like the word says, for the judge to hear the charges. Next Thursday, you are to return to this same judge, who will then sentence you.The other disappointing news is that the sentence for your offense is usually no less than three and no more than six months, but you have only served a little over a month. Still, the lawyer said the judge might decide to set you free. That would be the lucky part. The unlucky part is that you would then go right into la migra's la migra's hands! hands!I know I should not worry you, Tio, but if as Mr. B. said in cla.s.s, the truth will set you free, then perhaps this truth I am telling should get you out of jail and into Mexico next week.Abuelota and Abuelote now know that you are in jail. We didn't know how on earth they had found out. But it turns out that Tio Armando had told his wife, and Papa says telling her anything is like broadcasting it on the radio. Abuelota is so worried that you are being tortured and going without food. Papa told her that American prisons are like country clubs compared to the ones in our country. But I've never been to a country club with bars on the windows! In fact, I've never been to a country club at all. I've only seen some on TV. Papa, of course, once worked on the grounds of a fancy one in Carolina del Norte, which he said hired a lot of Mexicans.So please, if you can use the phone card we are putting in this envelope, please call poor worried Abuelota and Abuelote and tell them how much you are enjoying your country- club jail with its swimming pool and excellent food and wonderful service provided by Mexicans.

Lots of love and mucho amor, mucho amor,Mari 28 enero 2006 Querido Tio,

We know you have two good reasons to be happy! Your lawyer reported that the judge at your hearing on Thursday said that you had suffered enough, especially being locked up during the holidays with no family to visit you. She would not insist you serve another two months.