Free Before We Were Free by Julia Álvarez Page B

wondered what was going on. “Goodness gracious,” Mrs. Washburn says, putting the card back in its envelope. “That old goat!”
    “Don’t worry, Lucy,” Susie reassures her friend. “Daddy won’t let anything happen to you.” I nod, hoping that what Susie says is true.
    “I told her to wear that shawl.” Mami starts up her scolding again.
    “Carmen, honey, I don’t think that shawl would have made a darn bit of difference. You can’t hide your light under a bushel. And that old codger’s got eyes on his”—she notices me. Why is everyone always looking at me when they are about to say interesting things?—“eyes on the back of his butt.”
    “Honestly, Mother,” Susie says, rolling her eyes at Lucinda. But my poor sister is too scared to share in Susie’s disgust.
    “Where’s Sam?” I ask. It suddenly strikes me that Sam has not come over with his sister and mom like usual.
    “Young Master Sam and Master Oscar are probably sleeping off a mighty hangover. Yes, ma’am,” Mrs. Washburn adds, nodding at my mother. “Those two boys got into the rum last night. One of those tin-medal generals bullied them that they had to learn to drink like little men. Mr. Washburn can’t wait for Samuel Adams to recover from his hangover so he can get what else is in store for him today.”
    I wonder what else is in store for Sam today. Do the Americans punish their children by making them sit on a punishment chair, the way my parents once did? We’ve all outgrown that chair. In fact, it seems we’ve outgrown punishment altogether in the last few months. All we need to get back in line is one of Mami’s desperate looks or Papi’s stony-faced
¡No!
that allows for no further argument or discussion.
    When the phone rings, we all jump. Once, twice, three times, it keeps ringing until Lorena picks it up. In a minute, she is at Lucinda’s door. “It’s for
la señorita,
” she calls out through the door.
    “¿Quién es?”
Mami calls back.
    “Un señor,”
Lorena replies. As a graduate from the Domestic Academy, Lorena knows to ask for the name of a caller. Unless, of course, that caller is someone who needs no introduction.
    Lucinda sinks back in her pillow and begins to sob again.
    Mami stands to take the call, but Mrs. Washburn comes to our rescue. “Let me handle this.” She opens the door and follows Lorena down the hall. “I’m sorry,” we hear her say in her bad Spanish. “There’s no one here by that name.”
    When Papi comes home from work at noon, Mami tells him what has been going on all morning. Papi is so upset, he won’t eat his lunch even though it’s his favorite, a
sancocho,
with leftover
pastelitos
from the party. He and Tío Toni go off to the back of the property, and a little later, Papi crosses over to discuss things with Mr. Washburn.
    Meanwhile, the phone keeps ringing. Mami has instructed us not to answer it. As for Lorena, there’s no danger of her interference. Mami has given her the rest of the day off. “I’ve been overworking you, and it’s not fair,” Mami said, stuffing a tip in the young woman’s pocket and practically pushing her out the door.
    Papi comes back from the Washburns’ with news of a plan the consul has thought up. They are calling it Operation Maid. Friends in Washington who will be stationed in Colombia have been looking for someone who can teach their children some Spanish. Why not send Lucinda?
    Mami won’t have it. “My daughter’s not going to be anybody’s maid—”
    Papi’s reply cuts off all argument. “Would you prefer she be Mr. Smith’s little
querida
?”
    Mami doesn’t say another word. It’s decided. Mr. Washburn will request a special visa from the foreign ministry to send Lucinda to the States to help out his friend.
    But Tío Toni isn’t so sure the plan will succeed. The ministry will never disappoint Mr. Smith in order to please a mere consul. “I say we take Smith down now!” my uncle insists. He paces the patio,