The mail carrier made a third attempt to deliver the registered letter to a family member living on a farm in rural Wisconsin. It was a week before Christmas and the letter was addressed to the youngest, a 14-year old boy who had grown up with this large family of nine children who had come from a faith-based charity orphanage. All had been formally adopted by the parents except the youngest named Miguel, a brown-eyed boy of Hispanic ethnicity.
The long driveway to the farmhouse had not been plowed and it was hard-going for the mailman. When he reached the front porch he noticed that the holiday decorations were mainly boughs of greenery, cut from trees on the farm. But it was the decorations tied to the boughs that caught his attention. There were more than a dozen paper hearts cut with dull scissors that had messages to Santa written on them. They were scribed in young hands with simple requests for items like, new socks, a long muffler, lavender soap for Mama, a hot water bottle, rubber boots, reading glasses for Papa, gloves, a bath towel, slippers, a soft toy for Snoopy, a big blanket, and the like. He was so touched by these messages he felt that this would not be a very bountiful holiday season for this family, and in his distraction he failed to realize he had rung the doorbell, and a woman had opened the door. She was thin and dressed plainly, but had this enormous glow about her that welcomed the man inside the warm house. "Thank you, Ma'am, it surely would be nice to step inside to deliver this letter. It is for your son, Miguel, and it requires a signature. Is he available?" She replied that the children were helping their father out in the barn as they were preparing to slaughter a chicken for their family holiday meal. It was not a turkey, she said apologetically, but she was expert in making meals stretch to the best of their resources, and no one went hungry in her home. Could she sign for him? The mail man agreed. He was offered a cup of warm broth, then left to continue on his route.
When the family came in from outside and shed outerwear, the mother handed Miguel the letter. Surprised, he took a knife to open the stiff envelope, careful not to damage the foreign-looking stamps cancelled with the word 'Espana' across them. Inside was a letter, addressed to him with a different last name. The paper was of a thick creamy texture, a gold-embossed crest at the top with a red ‘H’ in the center and looked to be many pages long. The handwriting looked as if it had been penned with real ink, and the signature applied with a flourish of swirls. At the bottom of the letter there was a red wax seal with the emblem and letter ‘H’ imprinted. The letter read:
“My dear Miguel, I have asked my legal fiduciary to contact you regarding your rightful place in our family, a dynasty that is more than five generations old. Our family name is Hidalgo, and it has taken the past twelve years to establish legally, that I own my name as one of noble ancestry by proving that my last four grandfathers carried this venerable name, known in Spain as Hidalgo Solariego. Our family owns vast estates in Galicia, Spain and in order to claim title to those lands it has taken me all this time to clear my name. The political atmosphere here has made me rely on trusted legal advocates as it has been most dangerous. You were born in Spain, but your dear mother Azuzena Maria Hidalgo-Gomez, died a week after your birth. You are the only surviving male of the Hidalgos and I needed to protect you at all cost. It was arranged that a wet nurse would bring you to America and place you in the orphanage where you would be safe. You were taken into your present family as a foster child, when all of your siblings were formally adopted. I knew that your foster parents were honest, hardworking people, but I could not disclose my identity to them or you until the right time, which is now. When you were brought into this family, the orphanage sent with you a trunk, to be kept in a locked closet and not to be opened until there is formal word from me. That time is now, and you must show this letter to your foster parents, and have them open the closet, and then open the trunk with the combination contained in this letter.” It was signed don Miguel Antonio Hidalgo above the wax seal.
Miguel handed the letter to his mother and asked that all the family gather around the table to hear her read the contents. At the end, he asked his parents to open the closet and then the trunk. The trunk’s contents contained parchment copies of titles to lands, other legal documents, and another letter written by his father dated twelve years earlier. It described the reason for the baby Miguel being sent to America, and outlined the future of the boy in great detail. His inheritance would be granted immediately upon execution of a legal document in front of a local Judge. The family who had fostered Miguel would be entitled to a life estate monetary award amounting to annual payments of $500,000US. Miguel had been granted dual citizenship when he was brought to America, but would be given the right to remain with his foster family wherein his inheritance would be managed by trust attorneys in Spain or return to Spain at age 21 to manage his family’s estates in person.
There was silence around the table. His mother spoke first: “Miguel, your father and I wanted to adopt you as our own child, as are all your other eight siblings. The orphanage told us we could not do that, and that there were other babies that were available for adoption, but that would not be possible for you. You were different, a sweet child with large brown eyes. You spoke to us with those beautiful eyes. We could not pass you up, even though we wanted to raise you as our own. We gave you all the love and care your other siblings received, and we hope to remain your adopted family, if only by proxy. We wish you all blessings in your life and give you our commitment to honor you as a son with gratitude for your coming to us”.
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