Right now, we’re in Machala. We usually stay in the Costa because Benjamin says the Sierra is too cold and here we can sleep outdoors. Sometimes Benjamin takes other jobs, like fishing or collecting cacao pods, because he says we can’t only live from “art.” My mother goes from house to house offering to wash people’s clothes and when she gets a job, she takes me with her to do the washing. I hate it. I keep asking her if we can go back to Vinces and live with you in that big house like we did when I was small, but she says we can’t. She says your wife doesn’t want us there.

When am I going to see you again? As soon as we have a permanent address, I’ll send it to you so you can come visit.

I miss you,

Elisa.

I opened the next envelope.

April 30, 1910

Dear Papá,

We’re up north now, in Manta. My stepdad is working as a fisherman. I’ve seen the ocean and I’m not afraid of it. My face is so tan now I don’t think you’ll recognize me. Also, my hair has gotten really curly!

I’ve made some friends here. Mostly young fishermen and cocada vendors (have you ever tried them?). The bad thing about all this traveling is that I can’t go to school. I’m not complaining too much because I know a lot of kids would love my life, but I want to learn all I can so one day I can go back to Vinces and help you with La Puri. Mamá says you write a lot when you work, so I have to learn how to spell and do sums and subtractions, too.

Back in Guayaquil, I used to sneak into a school. The arithmetic class was so big that the teacher never noticed me. He didn’t even know his own students’ names! My classmates didn’t seem to care or notice me, either, though once in a while, someone was mean to me.

That’s all for now.

Your daughter who misses you,

Elisa.

I checked the dates and skipped a few letters until I reached a letter from 1914.

Papá,

Mamá says you’re never going to write back even though I’ve had this same address for a year. I tell her you probably didn’t receive my other letters so you don’t know where to send yours. We all know that the post office in this country is lousy! And besides you’re a busy man and according to my calendar, the harvest must be at its bloom.