Page 2 of The Promise of Jenny Jones
“And look where that honesty got me!” Jenny indicated the stone walls enclosing them. “No one believed a man, even a drunk soldier, would try to force himself on a woman like me.”
Marguarita met her eyes calmly. “If my information is correct, you have been hauling freight into the state of Chihuahua long enough to know that the instant you admitted shooting Senor Montez, you were convicted.” Curiosity flickered at the back of her gaze. “Why didn’t you lie?”
Angry, Jenny strode to the window and curled her hands around the bars, ignoring the burn of hot iron against her palms.
“Honesty is all I’ve got,” she said finally, speaking in a low voice. “I don’t have family. I don’t have beauty, or a man. I don’t have money, and I sure as hell don’t have a future. All I’ve got to prop up my pride is my word.” Her chin rose. “When Jenny Jones says something, you can bet your last peso that it’s true.”
“So I have been informed.”
“If I don’t have my word, then I have nothing. Iamnothing!” She stared hard over her shoulder, watching Marguarita Sanders press the bloody handkerchief to her lips. “Everybody needs something to make them feel good about themselves, even me. Honesty is what makes me feel like I’ve got a right to take up space in this world. It’s all I’ve got. No matter how bad things get, or how low my circumstance, I can always say Jenny Jones is an honest woman. It’s the one and only good thing about me.”
Honesty was what had placed her in a Mexican jail, a few hours away from a firing squad. “I could have lied to that mockery of a court,” she said between her teeth, staring out the window at the adobe wall that enclosed the camp. “And maybe you think I’m stupid because I didn’t. But telling a lie would be killing the only thing about myself that’s any good.” Raising a hand, she scratched at the lice in her hair. “If I don’t have my word, I might as well be dead. I’d rather die with honor than live without the only thing that makes me feel like I can face another day.”
It was a long speech, and it left her mouth parched. Embarrassment tinted her throat. She could have kicked herself for parading her private feelings in front of this crazy visitor.
“Your honesty,” Marguarita Sanders stated softly, “is why I trust you to take Graciela to her father. I believe you will honor our bargain.”
“We haven’t made any bargain,” Jenny said sharply. She leaned against the wall, catching a whiff of Marguarita’s powdery perfume. “There’s things about me that you don’t know. And things about you that I don’t know. Like…” She stared at the rich embroidery trimming Marguarita’s stylish blue cape. “Why a stranger? Don’t you have relatives who could take your kid up north?”
“Oh yes.” Marguarita studied the blood spots on her handkerchief. When she glanced up, bitterness deadened her gaze. “Our village is filled with cousins, none of whom would shed a tear if Graciela died tomorrow.” She drew a long careful breath. “My story is long and filled with tears, but I’ll tell it briefly.”
Curious despite herself, Jenny returned to sit on the mattress. “I’m not going anywhere. You can talk until dawn tomorrow as far as I’m concerned. But don’t go crying. I can’t abide weepy women.”
Marguarita turned her gaze to the sunlight slanting between the iron bars. “I grew up on a rancho in California next to the one owned by Robert’s parents. My father hated gringos; Robert’s father hated the Spanish.” She shrugged and smiled softly. “I loved Roberto.” A coughing spell interrupted her story.
“You should be in bed.”
“When I was sixteen, I became pregnant with Graciela. The news nearly killed my father; his shame and sorrow were so great.” She looked down at the handkerchief balled in her fist. “Our parents would not permit us to marry.” Now she tilted her head up to stare at the tin roof. “My father sent me here in disgrace, to my aunt. Roberto caught up to my carriage and we were married in The City of The Angels.”
“So why isn’t he here with you?”
“I am my father’s only child. But Roberto is the older of two brothers. If he followed me into exile, he would have forfeited his inheritance.”
Jenny decided she didn’t like this Robert, who chose an inheritance over his young wife and child.
“Neither my father nor Roberto’s parents recognize our marriage.” Pain flickered behind her eyelids, followed by a flash of surprising determination. “But my father will have to acknowledge Graciela after my death. She will be his sole heir.” Her gaze met Jenny’s. “My father is very wealthy, Senorita Jones, and so is my aunt. But my cousins are not. If Graciela should meet an untimely end, my greedy cousins are next in line and will inherit enough money to make thempatronsin a region this poor. Already I see them looking at Graciela and speculating: if this child should die…”
“I see.” Jenny frowned. “When you’re no longer present to protect her, you think your cousins will kill your daughter.”
Marguarita flinched. “This is a terrible thing to admit. But, yes. Only one small child will stand between my cousins and a life of great ease and comfort. I cannot trust any of them to see her safely to her father.”
Jenny considered the dilemma. The poverty in this area was legion. There were grand estates, and she assumed Senora Sanders resided on one of them, but clearly the cousins did not. They, like the nearby villagers, most likely lived in thatched huts and counted themselves blessed to have a single cow in the yard and a few thin chickens. Perhaps the cousins occasionally joined the bandits who roamed the countryside, hard-eyed men who would not scruple to slit a man’s throat for a few precious pesos.
Jenny picked a louse from her scalp and cracked it between dirty fingernails. “What about your Roberto and his parents? Are they going to welcome Graciela with open arms?”
“I don’t know,” Marguarita whispered, bowing her head. She touched trembling fingertips to her forehead. “I’ve had only one letter from Roberto in six years. He said he would come for me when it was possible for us to be together.” She closed her eyes. “Perhaps he is dead. Perhaps he despaired of our future and forgot about Graciela and me. Perhaps… I just don’t know. I tell myself he has written many, many letters and they did not reach us because perhaps his parents intercepted them.”
“If you ask me, Robert Sanders is one sorry son of a bitch,” Jenny stated flatly, studying the line of dirt embedded beneath her fingernails. “You know that, don’t you?”
“No!” Senora Sanders’s shoulders stiffened abruptly, and fire flashed in her dark eyes. For an instant Jenny glimpsed the girl who had defied a powerful father to marry the man of her choice. “Roberto is the sweetest, gentlest man who ever drew a breath.”
“Spineless, you mean.”
Marguarita stumbled to her feet, coughing harshly, and flung out a hand to support her shaking body against the cell wall. “I will not listen to slanders against my husband!”
Jenny rested her elbows on her knees and watched Senora Sanders fight to draw breath. She was no expert on medical matters, but she guessed Marguarita Sanders had only days left to her. “Yeah, the guy’s a real prince. Sit down and rest. And finish what you came to say,” she said.
Marguarita collapsed rather than sat. Her thin chest rose and fell rapidly, struggling to find air in the fetid cell.
