Under the Same Sky

by Cynthia DeFelice

  “Everything here is okay,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant and wondering if Dad was buying it. “The weather’s good. We finished the berries. I handed out the checks. Everybody’s taking tomorrow off.”

  And that was it. Dad said they’d try to get in around three or so the following afternoon, and hung up. Later my aunts and uncles checked in, too. It amazed me, really, that I could hide my fear and nervousness from the people who knew me best.

  I microwaved a frozen pizza, but I was way too keyed up to eat it.

  “Wait until dark,” Manuel had told me. The words kept repeating in my brain, making me more and more uneasy. Was there a plan? If so, what could it have to do with me?

  “They will be watching,” he had said. Just the thought of that gave me the creeps. Was it possible they were watching right then? I tried to look normal and take a bite of pizza. It tasted like dry cardboard and I spit it into a napkin.

  Darkness came slowly. I turned on some lights—that was normal, right? I turned on the TV—normal, normal. I stared at it with no idea of what I was seeing.

  I waited until long after dark. Every once in a while, I checked the time. Ten o’clock. Ten twenty-five. Eleven-ten. By midnight, I knew exactly what people meant when they said they were about to jump out of their skin.

  Where the heck was Manuel? I remembered the long, searching look he’d given me that afternoon, when I’d felt he was deciding whether or not he could trust me. Maybe he had decided he couldn’t, that it was too risky to let Little Boss in on the plan.

  Was that what was going on? Was he just humoring me, telling me to wait, to sit tight, to do nothing? Don’t call, don’t come over, don’t you want to help Luisa? Yes, I wanted to help Luisa! So what was I doing sitting on my butt in front of the TV while she was out there somewhere hiding or running for her life? Or already in jail?

  I’m out of here, I thought.

  “They will be watching.” Okay. I’d have to make sure there wasn’t anything for them to see.

  I left the television on and went up to my bedroom, where I put on black jeans, a long-sleeved dark shirt, and my navy blue New York Yankees hat. Remembering Luisa’s brightly colored clothing, I grabbed a couple of dark T-shirts and stuffed them into my backpack, just in case. I took a flashlight from the junk drawer in the kitchen and put that in the pack, too.

  My family almost always used the kitchen door rather than the official front door of our old farmhouse. The porch light was on outside the kitchen, but the front of the house was dark. That was where I slipped out. Stepping into the shelter of the big hydrangea bushes in the yard, I stood still to listen and look around.

  There was a breeze rustling through the trees, which would help to hide any little noises I made. But it would also mask the sounds of anyone else who was around. I listened again, staring hard into the darkness, but heard and saw nothing suspicious. A car passed on the road, followed a short time later by another, but they seemed to be traveling at normal speeds. There were the night sounds of insects and tree frogs and, every once in a while from the direction of the crew’s quarters, the faint noise of the television.

  Avoiding the part of the yard that was lit by the porch light, I crept through the shadows of the trees, crossed the driveway in the darkness between the barn and the house, and moved toward the trailers. I was scared and jumpy, and, at the same time, part of me felt ridiculous sneaking around in the dark like some sort of spy on my own farm. I didn’t even know what I was doing: I only knew I had to do something or I was going to go crazy.

  I stole up to the trailer where Manuel stayed and peered through the open window, which made me feel even more like a creepy weirdo. But I needed to know what was going on. Inside, the TV was playing, but no one was watching it. Manuel was on the phone, listening, nodding, and occasionally speaking in Spanish, his face very serious. Jorge, Gilberto, David, Carlos, and Antonio were sitting around the room, watching him anxiously.

  I realized when I didn’t see her that I’d held out a tiny hope that Luisa and the others had come back. But that was impossible. They could never come back, not to this farm.

  Manuel hung up the phone and quickly explained to the others what he had learned. From the expressions on their faces, it wasn’t good news. In the silence that followed, I tapped very lightly on the window screen.

  Everyone inside froze for a second, looking at one another as if to say, “Did you hear that?” I tapped again. Gilberto came to the window and peered out warily.

  “It’s me,” I whispered. “Joe.”

  He turned to the others and said, “It’s Little Boss.”

  I heard Manuel mutter something in Spanish that sounded as if it might be a swear word.

  Too bad, Manuel, I thought angrily. I’m here and I want to know what’s going on.

  He pointed to the back of the trailer, and I went around to the rear door. He opened it slightly and I stepped inside. We stared at each other for a moment, neither speaking a word.

  “I told you—” he began.

  But this time I cut him off. “Listen, Manuel, I did what you told me. I didn’t tell my dad or my uncles or anybody. I waited, but I’m sick of waiting. I could be in big trouble over this, so you’d better tell me: What’s going on?”

  Manuel ran his hands back through his hair and held them there for a minute, as if he was trying to keep his head from exploding. Finally, he let out a long breath and answered me.

  “There is a farm to the north, near Sodus, where Luisa and the others can go and be safe. We know this from Ginny. She helps people when trouble like this comes.

  “I know where Luisa and the others are now,” he went on, watching me intently as he spoke. “If the patrol didn’t find them.”

  “How do you know?” I asked.

  “We decide this before, just in case, after the migra come the first time. We picked the place where they will hide until we can come for them.”

  So there had been a plan all along. “Where?” I asked.

  He didn’t answer the question, but kept on talking quickly, agitatedly. “But now, is trouble. I keep trying to call Ginny, but she is no answer. If I drive”—he gestured furiously toward the driveway, where his beat-up old car was parked—“I will be noticed. I am stopped sometimes, anyway, when I do nothing wrong.”

  I nodded. A beat-up old car with Texas license plates and a Mexican at the wheel was way too conspicuous, especially with the border patrol on the alert. I was beginning to understand.

  “So you need somebody to pick those guys up where they’re hiding, and drive them to this farm you heard about,” I said.

  Manuel nodded. “Yes, and any minute the migra may come here. Or—”

  “I’ll drive,” I said.

  “Maybe they find the hiding place already—” He kept on talking, so upset that I guessed he hadn’t even heard me.

  “I’ll drive,” I repeated.

  He heard me that time. He stared dumbly.

  “You’ll have to come with me,” I went on. “To show me where to go.”

  Manuel blinked, recovering himself. “But—you can’t drive.”

  “Sure I can,” I said. “You’ve seen me.”

  “Yes, but, on the road. You do not have the license.”

  “Manuel, think about it,” I said impatiently. “If we get caught, me not having a license is going to be the least of our worries.”

  There were a few seconds of silence, while he did seem to think about that. I didn’t want him to think too long, though, because I didn’t want to think about it. If I did, I might chicken out.

  “We don’t really have a choice, do we?” I said. “It’s me, or nobody.”

  Maybe it was because he was desperate, and because what I’d said was the truth: there really was no other choice. Whatever his reason, I could almost see Manuel make up his mind—to use me, anyway, if not exactly to trust me. Which, right then, was fine with me. What mattered was to get going before it was too late.
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br />   If it wasn’t too late already. There was no sense in thinking about that, and I pushed the thought away.

  “Meet me at Dad’s truck,” I said, already reaching for the doorknob. “I know where the keys are.” Then I thought of something. “But wait. What if they are watching the house? You and I might be able to sneak around, but they’ll notice the truck leaving, even if we roll down the drive with the lights off.”

  The frazzled look returned to Manuel’s face, as we both tried to think of a solution to this new dilemma.

  “I know!” I cried excitedly. “The old green farm truck is out in the lane by the strawberry field—you know, the last one we picked?”

  Manuel nodded eagerly.

  “The back’s full of straw left over from mulching,” I said, thinking as I spoke. “But that’s good!” I added triumphantly. “For hiding in. Okay, so I’ll go get the keys!”

  “Wait,” said Manuel, grasping my arm. “Listen. This is what we do. I will go through the woods to where Luisa and the others are hiding. We will come near to the road, you know, the county road number 5?”

  I nodded.

  “We watch for you.”

  “Where? It’s a long road.”

  “You know the part where no houses are, where the creek goes under the road, only it is dried up—you know the place?”

  “Yeah.” I was pretty sure I did, anyway.

  “We wait there. You drive—like normal—down the road. If there are other cars, or if you see something you don’t like, keep going, come back later. If no one is around, you stop. Comprende?”

  “Yeah.” I thought there must be some more questions I should ask, but I couldn’t make my brain come up with them.

  “Come”—Manuel thought for a minute—“one hour from now.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Here, take this.” I handed him my backpack. “There’re some dark clothes and a flashlight.”

  He nodded his thanks and I stepped out onto the strip of grass between the rear of the trailer and the woods. Keeping to the shadows, I worked my way back to the front door of the house and went inside.

  First, I checked the time. It was twelve thirty-five. It would take me only ten minutes or so to get out to where the green truck was parked. Another ten minutes to drive to where Manuel said he’d be waiting…that meant I had forty minutes. I decided to make a show of going to bed, for anyone who might be watching.

  I walked around shutting out lights, turning off the television, and checking the doors and windows. Then I went up the stairs to my room to wait. Making sure it was absolutely dark behind me, I stood at my bedroom window to keep watch for any sign of slow-moving cars or—to tell the truth, I didn’t even know what I was looking for.

  The minutes crept by so slowly that I went into my parents’ bedroom to make sure my clock hadn’t stopped. At last it was time to go.

  I felt my way down the stairs and into the kitchen, where we kept a board with the keys to all the cars, trucks, tractors, and farm machinery hanging on little hooks. Because there were so many, Mom had put color-coded tags on them to make it easier to find the key you wanted. The key for the blue van had a blue tag, the red truck had a red tag, and so on. Luckily, we had only one green vehicle. I blessed Mom for being so organized.

  Once again, I slipped out the door and into the shadows on the edge of the lawn. This time I kept going, past the trailers and through a stand of woods, until I came out on the lane leading to the field where the truck was parked.

  On one side of the lane were strawberry plants, on the other, cabbages. A three-quarter moon had come out, and the acres of cabbage heads shimmered silvery-green in its light. It might have seemed magical if I hadn’t been so scared. This wasn’t the fun-scary feeling of riding the Mind Eraser, either, but the real, heart-pounding, sickening thing.

  I saw the outline of the truck and felt a fresh burst of anxiety. I almost wanted to turn back. Then I thought of Luisa hiding out there in the darkness somewhere.

  I checked the truck bed. Good. Under an old tarpaulin were the remains of several bales of hay. There was plenty of room for three people, and the tarp and the straw would provide good cover.

  I climbed into the cab. My hand was shaking so badly that I had a hard time getting the key in the ignition. When I managed to turn it, nothing happened. I tried again. Nothing.

  Come on, I thought. Start!

  Sluggishly, the motor turned over once and then died. I turned the key again and pumped the gas pedal up and down the way I’d seen Dad do. This time the engine caught and ran for a couple seconds before it died again.

  I screamed silently, Come on, come on, come on! I was pumping so hard that when the engine caught this time, it roared to life so loudly I was sure it could be heard all the way to town. Leaving the headlights off, I eased the truck into gear and moved slowly down the lane. My palms were slippery with sweat, and I had to grip the wheel tightly to steer in the deep ruts.

  When the lane ended, I stopped. This is it, I thought. Once you drive off the farm, there’s no turning back. I looked both ways; there wasn’t a sign of another car. Taking a deep breath, I switched on the headlights and pulled out onto the road.

  25

  I’d never driven this particular truck before. I had to fumble around and feel for the gears, and they were grinding and the truck was bucking so hard I was afraid of stalling. I’d never driven at night before, either. It was disconcerting not being able to see anything beyond the tunnel carved out of the darkness by the headlights.

  It was a good thing there was no one else on the road. I had to get my act together, fast. Anybody watching this performance would know I had no idea what I was doing.

  I forced myself to settle down and concentrate. When I reached the first corner, I slowed down for the right-hand turn, but not enough. I nearly lost control, barely missing the ditch on the other side of the road.

  I drove down another long, deserted two-mile stretch of farmland, getting used to the steering, even putting the truck into third gear to get a feel for speed. Whoa, too fast. Okay, back to second gear.

  At the next corner, I stopped, found the turn signal, then pulled onto the county road where Manuel and the others would be waiting. As I drove along trying to picture where exactly the dried-up creek went under the road, headlights came up behind me, moving fast, filling the rearview mirror and nearly blinding me. As the car passed me on the left, the driver gave a sharp blast of his horn, scaring me half to death.

  “Moron,” I muttered. Then I noticed the speedometer: I was going only eleven miles an hour. I couldn’t believe it. I’d felt as if I was zooming through the darkness, but I was practically creeping down the road. The speed limit was fifty-five, and would be for most of the hourlong trip to Sodus. I had to drive faster.

  But first I had to find the place Manuel had described. Praying that no more cars would come, I continued until I reached the long stretch where there were no farmhouses. I was pretty sure the creek bed was coming up and I was about to pull over, when a car came over the rise toward me. I panicked for a second, then speeded up so I wouldn’t look suspicious, and kept on going.

  I had passed the spot. I wasn’t going to risk stopping and turning around in the middle of the road, that was for sure. There was nothing to do but drive all the way around the seven-mile-long block again. Had Manuel seen me go by? If so, he’d understand what happened.

  By the time I came around to the meeting place again, I had calmed down and felt a little more in control. I slowed, pulled onto the shoulder, and stopped, scanning the moonlit shapes of bushes and overgrown weeds. Where were they? Was I too late? Had they been caught? Or was I in the wrong place, after all?

  Then, suddenly, dark shapes emerged from the shadows. I felt the truck shaking, and in the rearview mirror I could see people climbing into the rear bed. There were a few muffled whispers and someone—Manuel, I assumed—arranged the tarp. Then the passenger door opened, and Manuel was in the seat beside me.r />
  “Okay,” he said. “Go.”

  “You found them,” I said stupidly, pulling onto the road once again. “Is she—is everybody—all right?”

  Another stupid question, I knew. They were alive, they were here in the truck and not in jail, but how could they be all right?

  Manuel nodded tersely in answer, but I could tell his mind was already moving ahead. “You know the road we want?” he asked. “Is called route 14.”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “We go north.”

  “Okay,” I said. But my heart had begun to race again. I’d been on route 14 zillions of times, but I had never been the one driving. There were lots of different ways to get there, and most of them led through town. I wanted to avoid the brightly lit streets, the traffic lights and stop signs—and the police station, for crying out loud—in town.

  “Wait a second. Let me think.” I pictured the different routes in my mind, finally settling on one that would get us there on mostly country roads. They’d be more populated than the one we were on, but at least we’d avoid going through the streets in the center of town.

  There was hardly any traffic at that time of the night, which was good, in a way. But being one of the few cars on the road made me feel even more conspicuous. I felt as though a big red arrow hung over us, flashing out the words “Alert! Unlicensed Driver! Illegal Aliens!”

  I sensed Manuel fidgeting beside me, and figured he was feeling the same paranoia.

  “Can’t you drive faster?” he said finally. “You know, like normal.”

  I looked at him and then at the speedometer. Oh, man. He was right. I was doing only twenty-five, and still it felt really fast to me. I was going to have to concentrate every second on driving “like normal.”

  Except that there was nothing normal about what we were doing.

  After an excruciating stretch of time, we reached state route 14 and headed north toward the town of Sodus. Although the road mostly passed through farmland, there were a few small villages along the way, where the speed limit went from fifty-five to thirty. Perfect places for getting busted.