José Castillo looked at the building in front of him and let out a long, heavy sigh. He was finally here, Mercy Hospital. He only hoped Gabriella would be happy to see him. He could only think up two things that would happen when they met up: either she would begin weeping and fall into his arms, or she would slap him across the face and demand why he had actually listened to her.
‘I hope she’s happy to see me.’ José thought. ‘After all, I haven’t seen her in over nineteen years.’
Inhaling deeply, José gathered up his composure and entered the building. As he walked down the hall to the front desk, he saw a few men gathering up someone’s possessions and getting ready to send them somewhere. José only ignored them and went to the front desk.
“Excuse me,” he asked the nurse behind the desk, “could you tell me about Gabriella Castillo?”
“Gabriella Castillo?” the nurse inquired.
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry, but she died a little over two months ago.”
José immediately fell silent in shock. Gabriella had told him that she was sick; but she had never mentioned that she would be dying!
“In what relation were you with her?” the nurse asked.
“Huh? Oh, I was her…husband.” José answered.
“Her husband?” the nurse repeated.
“Yes.”
“She told me that her husband walked out on her almost twenty years ago.”
“And it took me twenty years to get the guts to tell her that I’m sorry. Did she have anything, like her jewelry or anything like that?”
“She did, only she left it to her son.”
Her son. Those two words swam through José’s head. Her son was the reason why he had left in the first place, but Gabriella had never told him what their child was. And now he knew; they had a son.
“We were about to send her things to her son in New York.” The nurse continued. “She wrote him regularly.”
“Do you have someone to see that it makes it safely to New York?”
“Not yet, but we were about to send-”
“Never mind him. I’ll see that it gets there safely.”
“Are you sure? Have you even seen or met her son?”
Those two words swam throughout his head again. The nurse had said her son; not theirs. ‘He was hers all along, not mine,’ he thought. ‘Had I been there with her, this entire situation would’ve been different.’
“No, I haven’t.” José answered. “But he knows who I am,” he lied.
“Very well. I’ll tell the chief that we have someone to see her things get to her son safely.” The nurse handed him a train ticket. “Here’s the ticket. And there’s no charge for it.”
José took the ticket and thanked the nurse, then went to get the boxes and take them to the train station. As the other men helped him load three boxes onto the train, he finally found a smaller one that was somewhat very light. He took that box and decided to keep it with him.
When he boarded the train, he took his seat and opened the box. His heart grew heavy when he saw what the box contained. Letters. They were letters from her son. The first one he saw, the writing was big and scraggly, as if written by a child. This must’ve been written when their son was still very young.
Picking up the letter, José drew out the faded yellow piece of paper and looked at the date. The date was September 8, 1889. Their son must have been at least eight years old when he wrote it. He read the letter silently to himself, already getting to know what his son was like.
The letter read: “Dear mama, I know it’s only been a month, but I miss you lots. Life here in New York is hard, but I think I will learn to get used to it. Being a newsie is different than I thought, some of the boys and girls are nice, others aren’t.
“One of the girl newsies, Seven of Nine, has adopted me as a little brother. She also taught me how to hawk headlines and improve (but not lie about) the stories. She even gave me a nickname! She gave me the name of “Bumlets” because she said that when she first saw me, I looked like a bum, but she didn’t think the name “Bum” would fit me right. It took her at least a week to finally come up with the name Bumlets when she said I was a little bum, and she combined the two. I know it’s not really the best name, but I think it’s fine.
“I wish you could’ve been here for birthday two weeks ago. I didn’t get lots a presents, but everyone was nice to me that day and even gave me a small birthday party. I wanted to send you a piece of cake, but Seven told me that if I did, it would be smushed before you got it. Oh well, maybe you can ask someone at the hospital to make you a special cake and just say that it’s mine. Please get well soon, mama. I want to be back at home with you and go back to the way we were. I love you, mama. Love, Michael.”
José folded up the letter and stuck it back in the envelope. But when he looked at the address, his heart sank. The return address from Michael Lopez, not Michael Castillo. ‘Lopez is Gabriella’s maiden name,’ he thought, ‘why does Michael go under her maiden name and not her married name?’
José then put the letter back and read another. The more letters he read, the more he knew about his son and the more he wanted to meet him. It was amazing at how mature he was by the time he got to 1898, when he was seventeen. He was telling his mother how he still hadn’t found the right woman but was still waiting. He also seemed responsible and smart, but over all, he seemed to have a good heart.
But José was in for a surprise when he read the letter from September 1, 1899. This letter said: “Dear mama, I’m sorry I haven’t been able to write you in a while, but me and the newsies went on strike almost two months ago. Pulitzer increased the paper’s price, and I had bought some papers at the new price, so I wasted sixty cents.
“But Jack suddenly led us on strike and everything happened so fast. It was almost like one minute, we were being beaten out of ten cents, and the next minute we were against them and refusing to sell papers. I can’t tell how you amazing this was. We were all best friends before, but during the strike, it was like we became one big family. We even had two new newsies, David and Les, and they even seemed to fit in with the family even though they lived with their real family.
“But the best part was actually what happened after some scabs tricked us into an attack or something and tried to fight Jack. Then Spot arrived with Brooklyn and we soaked the scabs and won! Now here’s the best part. We got our picture in the newspaper! Someone took our picture and it landed on the front page!
“But the strike wasn’t perfect, all the newsies threw a big rally and the bulls came and crashed it. That night was terrible; we had to spend the night in jail and go to court the next morning. The judge was going to send us to the refuge for two weeks, but Denton, a reporter who was covering the strike, bailed us out. But he got reassigned to his old job because of us, and I (I’m not sure about everyone else) felt pretty guilty.
“To make matters worse, Pulitzer bribed Jack to work for him again and sold us out. I was so angry, mama! I was not only angry, I felt betrayed, like Jack tossed us all out of his life like trash. Spot was ready to kill him, and it took me and a few more newsies to hold him back. To tell the truth, I felt almost exactly like Spot did.
“Don’t worry, mama, things actually got better after that. I think the Delancy brothers were trying to soak David and Les and their sister, Sarah, but Jack stopped them. Sarah had found Denton’s article on the strike and they decided to put out a paper on their own. Jack found a platen (I think that’s what it was) press and Denton worked it so they made a paper on the strike and how the refuge was deceiving Governor Roosevelt.
“We all pitched in to get the word out to the city. We waited for a long time and after a few minutes, almost all of New York appeared and the city went on strike! Jack and David then had a talk with Pulitzer and knocked some sense into his head that made him put the price back to where it was.
“After that, Snyder, the warden of the refuge, was tossed into jail for deceiving Roosevelt and stealing money from the funds. But Jack also decided to leave the newsies again and go to Santa Fe. We thought he would be gone for good, but he eventually turned around and came back. I’m glad he did. So now our lives are back to normal and we’re all a family again.
“But I was careful, mama, and I didn’t fight unless I had to. I wish you could’ve seen us when the entire city went I strike. I was so proud; I never thought anyone would listen to us newsies. I thought of you throughout the whole strike, and I want you to know that I will never do anything like that again. I love you, mama, and please be well again. Love, Michael.”
Also with this letter came a torn piece of paper from a newspaper. José realized that this must be the picture that was taken of the newsies that appeared on the front page. However, only one boy seemed ready for the picture, while everyone else wasn’t. But scribbled on the back were the names of the newsies, and where they were.
José smiled when he folded this letter up. His son was not only a good boy, but also brave with a strong heart. And not to mention handsome, like his mother. But none of these letters had any mention of him having a girl yet. He finally found the second to last letter her had sent Gabriella; and this one had told her that he had finally found a girl.
He had explained how he had fallen in love with her the second he looked into her eyes, and how he had fought for her when a man wanted to marry her against her will. He had also mentioned that she had a beautiful voice and that he had given her the nickname of Seven of Nine after the girl who had adopted him when he was eight.
When he finished reading this letter, José put it back and found the last letter. To his dismay, it hadn’t even been opened. Gabriella must not have received it in time. José opened the envelope and pulled the letter out. He felt a little guilty reading it instead of Gabriella, but if she couldn’t read it, he should.
It read: “Dear mama, I’m glad you like Seven. I can’t tell you how much I miss you, though. Since you seem to like Seven so much, we’ll be coming down to visit you sometime. I need at least another dollar and I’ll have enough money for train tickets and food. I haven’t told Seven yet, but I have told her about you, and she wants to meet you.”
José couldn’t read the rest. His heart grew discouraged as Michael described how Seven wanted to meet her. Now, she could never meet her. ‘But she can meet me,’ he thought, ‘but how will either of them respond to me?’
“All off for Manhattan!”
José jerked his head up. Where they there already? How long had he been asleep? Shaking his head, José arose and picked up the box of letters. He then pulled his ragged hat on and got off the train. As he waited for the other boxes, he began to wonder what his son’s reaction would be to him.
‘He probably already knows my name.’ José thought. ‘I can’t let him know right away.’ He then found the other boxes and claimed them before leaving the train yards. He then pulled out one of the letters from the first box and looked at the address. It was from a lodging house on Duane Street.
“Extry, extry! Staten Island swarmed by killer boids!”
José then turned to see a newsboy walking by. This boy was tall, had brown hair, wore a bright red - almost pink - shirt, and looked Polynesian. Guessing that he knew his son, José walked up to the newsboy and tapped on his shoulder. The newsboy then heaved a harsh cough that sounded very fake and pulled out a pathetic look.
“Buy me last pape, mistah?” he asked.
“I’m afraid that’s not what I want right now.” José told him. “I actually need some help. Are you a newsie from the lodging house on Duane Street?”
The newsboy gave him a confused look. “Yeah, why?”
“I’m looking for one of your comrades.”
“Com what?”
“I’m looking for another newsboy. I think his name is…Bumlets.”
“Bumlets? Yeah, I know ‘im. Known ‘im fer a long time. Whaddaya want wit ‘im?”
“I have some things for him, and I need some directions and some help to deliver these.”
“’Ey, no problem. I’ll help ya.”
José then handed the newsboy one of the boxes and he took it and set his newspapers on top. Then José handed him another and took the other two himself.
“Jus’ follah me.” the newsboy told him.
“What’s your name, boy?” José asked him.
“Name’s Swifty.”
“Alright. Thanks, Swifty.”
Swifty nodded and he guided José to the lodging house. To José’s surprise, this lodging house was old and looked like it needed a few repairs. ‘Is this how the newsies live?’ he wondered.
Swifty then opened the front door and let José walk in. He closed the door behind him and set the boxes on the floor.
“Whew! That was quite a load!” Swifty exclaimed. “So, what all is dis stuff?”
“These things belonged to his mother.” José answered.
“Excuse me, but who are you?” an elderly man behind a desk asked.
“Dis guy’s got some stuff fer Bumlets.” Swifty answered. “Is ‘e ‘ere?”
“I don’t know. Go and check.”
Swifty nodded and went to the stairwell. “HEY BUMLETS! YA UP DER?” he shouted.
“Swifty,” the elderly man said, “I said to check, not yell. If I wanted someone to yell for him, I’d get Jack.”
At that very second, the door opened and José turned to see a pretty young girl stick her head in. From what he saw, this girl had medium to long brown hair with what looked like blonde streaks, and she had hazel eyes that sparkled. She somewhat reminded José of the girl Michael had described in his letter.
“Did I hear someone call for Bumlets?” the girl asked.
“Sure did.” Swifty answered. “I take it he ain’t upstairs.”
“No, he’s right here!” A voice behind the girl announced.
José fell silent when the door opened and the girl moved aside. A young man with a bright smile appeared behind her, and José knew who he was. It was his son, Michael.
For the very first time, he could not think of anything at that moment. Michael was different than the picture he had send Gabriella; his hair was a tad bit shorter and was now growing facial hair. His mustache was very light, and his beard was light as well; it was down his chin in a straight line and finally met up with a patch of hair on the bottom of his chin. But one thing was for sure; he looked too much like his mother.
“Hey Kloppman.” Bumlets said. “What’s all dis stuff?” he gestured at the boxes José had brought.
“Oh…uh, these are your mother’s things.” José spoke up. “I just brought them over.”
Bumlets nodded, but his eyes seemed a little sad. José could tell that by the mention of his mother that he felt like he had lost her again.
“Need some help?” the girl asked, her voice soft.
“Yeah, I’ll need some help.” He turned to José. “What all did ya bring?”
“Pretty much all she had.” José replied. “She didn’t have much, but she did want you to have it.”
“Thanks-uh, what’s yer name?”
“Diego. Diego Fuentes.” He lied.
Bumlets nodded again. “Thanks Diego. Do I give ya tip ‘r somethin’ like dat?”
“No, it’s alright. I don’t need a tip.”
“’Kay. C’mon Seven, let’s get dis stuff upstairs.”
The girl nodded and picked up two of the boxes. Bumlets then took the other two and followed the girl, whom he had called Seven, and walked up the stairs. Swifty followed behind. José watched Bumlets and Seven until they disappeared with a heavy feeling in his heart.
“Excuse me,” the old man, Kloppman, said, “but I really think you should be tipped for your services.”
José shook his head. “No, I…I don’t need anything. I think coming here was a tip enough.”
Kloppman raised an eyebrow. “Why? No one has ever said that before, especially in this lodging house.”
José heaved a heavy sigh. “Has Bumlets told you about his childhood?”
“Yes, why?”
“I lied. I lied about my name.”
“Excuse me?”
“If I tell you this, you must swear on your life that you won’t tell any of the newsies.”
Kloppman’s eyes widened in astonishment. Who was this man if he had lied about his name, and why was he trusting a complete stranger with his secret? But when Kloppman looked at José, he could see that he was desperate and needed to keep his secret safe.
“Alright. I won’t tell a soul.”
“Did Bumlets tell you that his last name is really his mother’s maiden name?”
“Yes, why?”
“Did he tell you her married name?”
“Yes.”
“My real name is José Castillo.”
Kloppman’s eyes grew wide at the name. Bumlets had told him that his father’s name was José Castillo, but why was he here now?
“Did it have to take you that long to realize your son needed you?” Kloppman asked.
José nodded solemly. “Yes. Unfortunately, it did. Please, don’t tell him or anyone else. He can’t know who I am.”
This was going to be a tough secret to keep. Kloppman knew that even though Bumlets never wanted to meet his father, there was a place somewhere in his heart that wanted to know who he was and what he was like.
After a few seconds, José finally left the lodging house. He decided that he was going to stay in Manhattan to get to know his son, but not tell him who he really was.
Bumlets opened the first box and looked inside. It was all the letters he had sent to his mother. Sighing heavily, he pushed the box under his bed and started on another.
“What was in that box?” Seven asked.
“Letters.” Bumlets replied. “All de letters I ever sent to mama.”
“I see.”
Bumlets then opened the second box and looked inside. Inside where almost all of his mother’s few possessions. Just like him, she loved to read. Inside were many books, including Little Woman, Jane Eyre and others.
Along with the books were Gabriella’s jewelry. She didn’t have much, but she treasured them all. She had a pair of pearl earrings that were heirlooms to her, along with a gold locket with a red heart-shaped garnet in the center.
Bumlets opened the locket and looked inside. He laughed sadly when he saw what was inside.
“What’s wrong?” Seven asked.
“There’s a picture ‘a me in here.” He answered.
He handed her the locket and looked at the rest of his mother’s jewelry. Though José had walked out on her, she had kept her wedding ring. Her ring was made of gold with diamonds going all around the band. It could bring them a lot of money, but Bumlets knew he could never sell it.
He then found what he had been looking for. He found a sterling silver picture frame with an old picture inside. The picture was of Gabriella and him when he was six years old. He looked up at Seven and handed the picture frame to her.
“That’s me and mama when I was six.” He told her.
Seven took the picture and looked it over. “You were pretty cute when you were six. And your mother was very beautiful.”
Bumlets blushed a little. “Thanks.”
Bumlets then looked back at the box to see if there was anything else. Though it was mainly books, he found a letter at the bottom of the box. He picked up the letter and tore at the envelope to pull the letter from it.
The letter read: “Dear Michael, I know you won’t get this until after I’ve gone. But I want you to know that I have written your father and told him where I was. I told him I was sick but not dying. I just wanted him to know about you and how special you are to me. But he hasn’t come yet, and I’m afraid I’ll never see him again.
“But that’s not the whole point of this letter. I want you to know that I love you, and that I’m proud of you. I wanted to leave you everything because I know that you are responsible and mature.
“And I also wanted to mention your girl, Seven of Nine. I know I haven’t met her, but the way you’ve described her I know what she’s like and I love her too. If one day you decide to marry her, I’d be honored if you’d give her my wedding ring. Always remember that I love you, and please accept the money I have sent you. I know it’s not much, but it’s all I have. Love forever, mama.”
Bumlets set then letter down and shut his eyes. Oh, how he missed her. He hadn’t seen her face in eleven years and yet she was branded into his mind. When he finally reopened his eyes, he opened the envelope and two twenty dollars bills, a ten dollar bill, a five and a few ones fell into his lap.
“Is that a letter from your mother?” Seven asked.
Bumlets nodded. “Yeah.” he whispered. “She said that she wrote my father and wanted to talk with him. She also said that she loved me, and that she loved you, even though she had never met you.”
“She did?”
“Yeah. That’s just like mama, she was always looking for the good in people.”
Bumlets put the letter and the money in the envelope and stuck it under his pillow. He then pushed the box under his bed and pulled out a third box.
“I’ll bet I know what this is.” he mumbled to himself.
He opened the box, and sure enough, he was right. The box was filled with his mother’s clothes. But there was another letter, only this one was folded up and came without an envelope. He unfolded it and read it over.
“Michael, I know there’s not much you can do with these clothes, but these are my favorites, and I want you to give them to Seven of Nine. I gave the rest of my clothes to the hospital for other patients.”
Bumlets then looked at Seven and handed her the note. While she read over it, he lifted a dress from the box and buried his nose in the fabric. He inhaled deeply and breathed in his mother’s scent.
He then shut his eyes again and remembered how she used to sit him in her lap while in her rocker, hold him close and sing him songs in both English and Spanish. How he longed for those times, just so he could be with her again.
“I wish I could tell your mother thank you.” Seven said, interrupting Bumlets’ memories.
“I’m sure she knew you would say that.” He whispered. “But I wanna know what’s in the fourth box. She din’t mention anything about a fourth box.”
“You want me to help?”
“Sure. Let’s open this one together.”
Seven nodded and together they opened the last box. This was also filled with clothes, only they weren’t women’s clothes; they were men’s. And atop of the clothes was another note. Bumlets picked it up and read over it.
“I’m glad God spared me enough time for me to make these for you, Michael. I just finished making these clothes for you. I’m sure that you need some new clothes and a new blanket. But remember that they were made out of a mother’s love.”
Bumlets smiled and set the note down. He drew out one of the folded up shirts and looked at it. This one was a dark cyan color made from wool fabric. This would keep him warm in the winter.
The next shirt he pulled out was white; probably for special occasions. Along with this one came a black vest with pockets in both the front and inside of the vest. And finally, there was a pair of black pants and a black coat. It was most likely an outfit for him.
Next, there was another pair of pants and another coat. This pants were a dark brown color and very soft and warm, and the coat was dark gray and made for cold weather. He also pulled out a knitted white wool scarf with gray tassels hanging from both ends. Also with the scarf came a pair of knitted gray gloves that fit his hands perfectly.
And finally, there was a patchwork quilt neatly folded at the bottom. It was covered with patches of fabric that he knew all too well.
“Seven,” he breathed, “mama made these from old clothes and things.”
“What?” Seven asked.
“This quilt. That block,” he pointed to a piece of white cashmere, “is from mama’s wedding dress. She showed it to me once. An’ that block is from an old pair of pajamas I outgrew when I was five. An’ that calico piece is from one of mama’s work clothes. She was always working in a flower garden, an’ she wore it when she planted new flower bulbs. An’ that one right there is from my baby old blanket I loved to shreds.”
“So, in other words, she made a quilt with pieces of your past?” Seven inquired.
“Yeah. That’s just like mama. I miss ‘er so much.”
“I know. But at least you know she loved you.”
“Yeah. An’ I loved her. I jus’ wish my father woulda known what he was missing from us.”
It was dark; there was no moon that night, and the stars seemed dark. Bumlets turned over on his bunk and looked toward the window. He hadn’t slept a wink that night because all he could think about was his mother and the father he had never known.
At first, he listened to the snoring of the newsies around him to fall asleep, but it soon turned out to be annoying. Then he tried to listen to the faint songs the crickets chirped, but that didn’t help either. He just couldn’t get to sleep.
Finally, he was hit with a thought. The man who had brought him his mother’s things…what was his name? Diego Fuentes, that was it. Maybe he had known his mother, or maybe even his father! But what if he didn’t? He needed to ask someone about this, but everyone was asleep.
‘There’s only one person who won’t soak me if I wake ‘em up,’ he said mentally. Throwing his covers off, he slunk through the dark, trying not to awaken any of the other newsies. He finally reached the bunk he was looking for and shook them awake.
“Seven!” he whispered hoarsely. “Seven, wake up!”
Seven only moaned and turned over a minute later. When she saw Bumlets, she squinted her eyes to make sure it was him.
“Bumlets?” she asked. “What’re you doing at this time of night?”
“I need some help.” He told her. “All I can think about is mama and my father. Do you that Diego, the man who dropped mama’s things off, knew mama?”
“I don’t know.” Seven answered. “He might.”
“Do ya think it’s worth a shot?”
“What is?”
“Asking him if he knew my parents.”
“I guess so. Now will you go back to sleep?”
“Okay.” He bent down and kissed Seven’s forehead. “Goodnight.”
Seven nodded and rolled back over and shut her eyes. Then Bumlets went to his bunk and fell fast asleep.
Bumlets let out a huge yawn as he leaned against the side of the building. If he had only gotten more sleep last night he wouldn’t be as tired as he was now.
“Bumlets, are you okay?” Seven asked.
Bumlets turned to her and nodded. “Yeah. I’m jus’ tired, that’s all. I couldn’t get to sleep last night.”
“I see. You’d better move up, you’re right behind Panda.”
Bumlets then took two steps forward and waited for Panda to get her papers. When she moved along, he dropped his money on the counter and ordered his usual hundred.
“Hundred papes for the bum.” Weasel mumbled to Oscar.
Oscar slammed his newspapers down, causing him to jump. When he looked at Oscar, he burst out laughing.
“What?” he demanded.
“You.” Oscar laughed. “You’re so pathetic! I jus’ drop your papes an’ you jump a mile high! I can’t believe that Seven’s with you!”
Seven then appeared and frowned at Oscar. “I’m with him, Oscar, because he’s mature, sweet, and over all, better looking than a half-witted, scruffy looking garbage-scow mutant like you.”
The newsies all burst out laughing this time and Oscar’s ears turned crimson. Morris, who was standing behind Oscar, couldn’t even hide his laughs. He tried to choke a laugh into a cough, but it didn’t work well. Oscar turned to him and frowned.
“Laugh it up, fuzzball!” Oscar snapped.
The newsies laughed even harder than before, this time causing Morris to turn bright red. Seven only smiled sweetly at Weasel and dropped her money on the counter.
“The usual, Mr. Weasel.” She said with a fake sweetness in her voice.
“Get her papes, Oscar.” Weasel growled.
Seven could tell by the tone of Weasel’s voice that he was annoyed with her. ‘Good,’ she thought, ‘maybe that’ll cause him to keep Oscar away.’
Oscar set her papers on the counter but didn’t say a word to her. Seven then took her papers without saying a word and walked down the platform to Bumlets, who was waiting for her.
“Thanks for stickin’ up fer me.” He said. “I really wasn’t in the mood for sayin’ stuff like that.”
Seven nodded. “I know. I could tell by how tired you are, and I wanted to give Oscar a piece of my mind for once.”
Bumlets smiled faintly and let out a small sigh. “Wanna head out now?”
“Sure. Let’s go.”
The two left the distribution yard and headed to their normal selling spot, calling out headlines as they went. After a few hours, they had sold most of their papers and decided to head for Tibby’s to grab a bite to eat.