Page 20 of The Promise of Jenny Jones
“We’re just going to cut yours like a boy’s. That’s all,” Jenny snapped, suddenly irritated. “It’s time for bed. Get out of your clothes and go to sleep.”
“I have to wash my teeth and say my prayers first.”
“Then do it.” When Graciela was finally ready for bed, Jenny waited while the kid knelt and basically offered up the same prayer as she did every night. Jenny made a face during the blessing of the cousins, and she spoke the last words in unison with Graciela. “And strike Jenny dead, amen. We don’t need to suggest ways and means, all right? We can leave the details of my demise to God. Now, go to sleep.”
She sighed when Graciela lifted her cheek for a kiss. She didn’t think she would ever get accustomed to death wishes being followed by a good-night kiss.
“Don’t get any of the black on me,” Graciela warned.
Not trusting herself to speak, Jenny brushed a hasty kiss across a silken cheek, then she blew out their candles and went to sit beside the window.
A pungent burning odor continued to drift from the tobacco factory, but the building was dark and empty now. A man wearing a mended serape and a wide hat led a burro down the deserted street toward the sound of voices and music coming from some distant place that Jenny couldn’t see. The burro’s hooves striking the cobblestones made a lonely sound.
When Jenny was certain that Graciela had fallen asleep, she lit a dark cigar that she’d purchased earlier from a vendor in themercado.Leaning her arms on the windowsill, she gazed at the night sky, seeking the star she had assigned to Marguarita.
“I don’t smoke in front of the kid,” she said defensively once she located the correct star. Marguarita had not impressed her as the type to appreciate a good cigar. Not that this was an especially good cigar.
“I sure hope things are going better for you than they are for me.” She drew on the cigar and exhaled. The smoke hung on the still, hot air. “I told you I wasn’t a kid person. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Waving a hand, she tried to clear the smoke that obscured her view of Marguarita’s star. “I wanted to hit her. I came this close. So tell me. Sometimes you have to hit a kid. You just have to, right?” Jenny waited, gazing up at the star. If the star winked, that would signal agreement. The star gazed back as unmoving as a fleck of cotton on a square of black velvet. Jenny sighed heavily. “Well, I’m not a fricking saint like you are,” she said sourly.
She smoked for a while, occasionally pressing down one of the waxy black tufts sticking out from her scalp. “Maybe I shouldn’t have told her about our plan. Maybe I scared her, I don’t know.” She waved the cigar. “This would have been easier if she’d been a boy. I’ve been around men most of my adult life; it doesn’t matter what you say to them. But see, that’s part of the problem. It’s not only that she’s a kid, she’s a girl kid. I don’t know what to say to her. Can you imagine me talking about fashions? Huh! And I don’t know how to fix her hair…”
Leaning on the sill, she earnestly appealed to the star. “Marguarita? I’ve got to cut her hair. You see that, don’t you? It’s our best chance. So you tell her that she’s got to let me do it. She’ll listen to you. Hell, she thinks you can do no wrong.”
The odor from the tobacco factory mingled with the aroma of the cigar and the heavy scents of town. Jenny smelled grease and rotting garbage, dung and urine, smoke from a thousand cooking fires.
If she leaned far to the left, she could see a glow of light in the direction of the plaza. Otherwise, the night was dark, hot, and sultry, the kind of night that made Jenny feel restless inside, itching for a vague something that she couldn’t name. Nearby, someone unseen strummed a guitar. The music was soft and achingly sad, opening a hole in Jenny’s chest. At that moment, she could believe that she and the guitarist were the only people left on earth.
When the cigar had burned to a stub, she flipped it into the street, then eyed the bed with anticipation. It had been a long time since she had slept on a decent mattress, between clean sheets and with a pillow for her head. After stripping to her shimmy, she elbowed Graciela aside and slid into bed. Pulling the top sheet to her nose, she inhaled deeply, letting the clean scents of starch and homemade soap obliterate the stench of the night. She was going to sleep as soundly as a dead man.
As it turned out, that’s exactly how she slept. When she awoke in the morning, Graciela was gone, and Jenny hadn’t heard a sound. Not Graciela getting dressed, not the click of the door closing, nothing.
In two minutes flat, she was dressed and running down the staircase, shouting Graciela’s name.
Chapter Five
Graciela had never been to a town the size of Durango, nor had she imagined that so many people could crowd into one place. Within ten minutes of slipping out of the hotel, she was hopelessly lost.
Although the prospect frightened her badly, she realized that eventually she would have to speak to a stranger, would have to ask directions, a dangerous act she had been cautioned against all of her life. Thus far she hadn’t mustered the courage to approach any of the people who jostled each other in the streets as the morning progressed, but she was uncomfortably aware that she attracted attention.
Her hair hung loose like the hair of the ragged girls she saw in the streets, a condition distinctly at odds with the rich fabric and workmanship of her traveling skirt and jacket. The campesinos’ daughters wore hats only on Sunday, and their hats were made of plaited straw, not fabric like Graciela’s. They wore shapeless dresses, nothing fashionable or trimmed with lace and braid.
Most telling, her fine clothing signaled that she should have been accompanied by a duenna or a family member. That a richly dressed child wandered alone made her an object of curiosity and speculation. This meant that Jenny would experience little difficulty following her. She would be remembered.
Pausing beneath the shade of a log-and-thatch overhang, Graciela observed inquisitive dark eyes sliding her way. Wringing her hands and averting her gaze, she understood that she had to do something to hide herself, and she had to ask someone for directions. Both courses of action confused and upset her.
Always before there had been adults to make the decisions, adults to protect and care for her. Never had she been on her own or imagined that she would be. She was not accustomed to or prepared to rely on herself. Therefore, no solution leaped to mind when she wondered how she might evade the eyes and memory of the vendors ranged along the street.
Troubled, she watched a wagon rumble past, watched the driver turn on the seat to look at her, and she stamped her boot in frustration.
What would her mama have done to solve this predicament? Or Aunt Tete? Unfortunately Graciela could not imagine either her gentle mother or ancient Aunt Tete ever finding herself in a situation like this.
However, she experienced no difficulty imagining that Jenny might want to hide from someone. She considered this realization. What would Jenny do? Though it galled her to rely on the person she most hated, the very person she wished to escape, thinking about Jenny revealed the first inklings of a solution. Jenny would do whatever was necessary; neither pride nor vanity would stand in Jenny’s way. Jenny would…
Gradually Graciela comprehended that she had been staring for several minutes at a barefoot urchin on the other side of the cobblestone street. The girl appeared to be about Graciela’s age, but there the similarity ended.
She wore a formless dress that once had been white but was now grey with age and heavily soiled. Rips in the skirt showed flashes of bare leg, and a torn sleeve hung from her shoulder. Her hair had not known the touch of a comb or brush in recent memory, and dirt, twigs, and odd lumps were matted in the strands as if she had used the cobbles for her pillow. The girl was very dirty.
Lifting her hem, Graciela darted across the street, dodging offal, refuse, and horses and carts. When she stood before the girl, she noticed the child held a half-eaten tamale. The scent of roasted corn and meat made her stomach grumble.
