Page 81 of The Promise of Jenny Jones
“Is that true?” Graciela whispered, wiping her eyes to peer hard into Jenny’s.
Oh God, oh God, oh God. “As God is my witness, I’ve told you the truth. Have I ever lied to you? Or to anyone else? If anyone is to blame for your mother’s death, it’s me for being so stupid as to get myself arrested and sentenced to a firing squad. And it’s her fault, too, for being so brave and wanting to save a friend who could help her daughter. But you are not to blame. Not you. Never you.”
“Oh Jenny.” The kid’s arms came around her neck, choking her, holding on tight. But this time her sobbing was softer; a torrent of grief, not blame. Deep sorrow, not fault.
“There’s something else,” Jenny said after a long time, speaking softly, stroking the child’s back. “Don’t go thinking you’re to blame for what happened to Ty.” She waited until her voice steadied. “Your uncle Ty is an honorable man who would help any two people who needed him. Remember how we met him? How he jumped into the fight at Verde Flores? He didn’t know us then. His conscience pointed him toward that bullet, Graciela, not you. If Ty dies, and I refuse to believe that he will, it won’t have anything to do with you.”
“I thought it was my fault that he… are you sure?” Graciela murmured against her damp shoulder. Her agonized whisper told Jenny that she had guessed right.
“I’m very sure. Now. Let’s find that gold locket and pin it on your jacket so we can honor a fine and courageous woman who was my friend and who loved you as much as any mother ever loved a daughter.”
“Jenny? I love my mama. But I love you too.”
Oh Lord. Her arms tightened around Graciela’s body and she buried moist eyes in the child’s hair. She was strangling. She thought she might die. “It’s all right,” she whispered finally. “That doesn’t mean you love your mama less. It just means that you care for me too.” She swallowed hard, hearing her heart crack in her chest. “It doesn’t mean you’re being disloyal to your mama. I think she’d like it that you care about me a little.”
That night she didn’t try to sleep. She sat beside the window, watching moonlight shadows slide across the desert miles. She didn’t regret lying to Graciela; she would do it again in the same circumstance. But she felt the empty space where she’d taken a chunk out of herself. And she ached with the sweet pain of a child’s love.
Toward morning, she raised her eyes to search for Marguarita’s star.
I hit her, Marguarita. Funny, isn’t it? All the times I threatened to smack her, but I never did. Then she stopped wearing the gold locket and I… well, you know what happened.
Was lying the right thing to do? Or did I throw away the one good thing about myself? I don’t know anymore. I just know I couldn’t let her go on hating herself for believing that you died to save her, that your death was her fault. I didn’t think you’d want her sitting around at my age hurting herself with blame and fault during the lonely times.
And I guess you heard her say that she loves me.
Oh Marguarita. This is so fricking hard. I just didn’t know anything could be this hard.
How can I say good-bye to her?
Chapter Seventeen
San Francisco was the largest city Jenny had ever set foot in. There was opportunity here for a woman who didn’t shy from hard labor and wasn’t afraid to get her hands dirty. She didn’t look like that kind of woman now, wearing a trimmed hat and driving gloves and the rumpled skirt and jacket of her traveling ensemble, but soon she would.
She drew the wagon on a rise and narrowed her gaze on the frenzied activity occurring down below at the wharves, listening with half an ear to Graciela’s awed babble about the ocean. The only thing Jenny knew about oceans and harbors was that wharf rats were always in short supply, and the pay would be enough to keep her alive.
Satisfied that at least she had a plan of sorts, she clicked her tongue at the mule and returned to the road cutting inland from the coast.
“When will we reach the ranch?” Graciela asked, lowering the dictionary she’d been reading aloud.
“I expect we’ll arrive tomorrow. Keep reading. And stop leaning on me.”
She rolled her eyes in affectionate exasperation when Graciela ignored the instruction not to lean. It remained a mystery as to the exact moment when she had turned into such a pudding. And a mystery as to how the kid knew it had happened.
“Jenny?” Graciela kept her gaze fixed on the dictionary. “I’m scared.”
The air ran out of her lungs, and her chest hurt for a moment before she dropped an arm around Graciela’s shoulders. “Sooner than you believe it’s possible you’re going to feel like you’ve known your daddy and your grandma forever. And they’re going to love you. Have you ever met anyone you couldn’t charm?”
“I like it when you say nice things.” Tilting back her hat brim, the kid cast her a tiny grin. “Do I charm you?”
“Huh! Not very likely.” She laughed. “Well, maybe sometimes. But I’m a hard case. Your daddy and grandma Ellen will be pushovers for a manipulator like you. Remember that word?”
Graciela laid her cheek on Jenny’s shoulder. “What about Grandpa Barrancas?”
Jenny had also been thinking about Don Antonio. None of her conclusions were fit for a child’s ears. “For the moment, at least, you should probably just wait and see if he sends for you.” She glanced at the top of the kid’s hat. “He might not, Graciela. He was mighty displeased with your mama, and that might extend to you. I wouldn’t set my hopes too high if I were you.”
“When I get really scared about meeting all of them, I just pretend I’m you and think about what you would do.”
Jenny bit down on her back teeth and stared at the mule’s ears. “And what would that be?”
