Page 23 of The Promise of Jenny Jones
Homesickness raised tears to her eyes and made her knees go weak. “Please. Help me!”
A woman approached the gate wearing a frown and a damp apron that smelled like laundry soap. She scowled at Graciela and waved a hand in front of her nose. “Get away from here! Go!” Someone called a question, and she glanced over her shoulder. “It’s only a beggar.”
Pride lifted Graciela’s chin. “I am not a beggar,” she said swiftly. “Inform your mistress that Graciela Sanders, the great-niece of Dona Theodora Barrancas y Talmas, begs your lady’s kindness and assistance. You will do this at once,por favor.”
The washerwoman grinned and rolled her dark eyes toward heaven. “Where did you learn such a pretty speech?” She turned her head to call over her shoulder. “Even the street trash is putting on airs now.”
For the first time in her life Graciela spied no respectful recognition at the mention of her aunt’s name. This woman—this servant!—laughed at her. Shock and confusion drained the color from her face.
The servant woman waved her hands in a shooing motion. “There’s nothing for you here. Get away from the gate or I’ll call someone. You won’t welcome a beating from Jose.” Frowning, not a flicker of sympathy in her gaze, she watched Graciela’s shaking hands fall away from the iron bars.
Frightened, Graciela moved out of the woman’s line of sight and sank to her knees, pressing her back to the high wall before she covered her face in her hands. Hot tears wet her fingers.
When she left the hotel this morning, she had anticipated a great adventure. She had not been afraid.
Now she trembled with fear. She was lost and hungry, and every stranger who looked at her made her stomach hurt. Overwhelmed by her own helplessness, she sobbed into her hands.
When no more tears would come, she wiped her eyes, hiccuped, and stared at the filth on her toes. She longed for a bath and something to eat. At this moment she would gladly have taken a pair of scissors to her hair if Jenny had appeared at the end of the quiet street.
The thought made her cringe. Forming a fist, an unladylike gesture her mother would have disapproved, she struck the adobe wall.
The hated Jenny would not have given up. And neither would she. Her small chin steadied into a stubborn angle that her mother would have recognized.
She had begun with a plan, and she would see it through. Somehow. If no more bad men grabbed her. If she was fortunate.
What choice did she have?
After a final homesick glance toward the iron gates that closed her away from the only life she knew, she turned away, dragging her bare feet over the rough cobbles toward the noise and smells of commerce and people.
She told herself that Jenny wouldn’t have been afraid.
Sunlight bounced off the Rio Nazas and momentarily blinded Ty as the train chuffed across the bridge. Turning his face from the window, he consulted his pocket watch. The conductor swore they would arrive in Durango on schedule at seven o’clock, but clearly it would be later. Nothing ran on schedule in Mexico.
After returning his watch to his vest pocket, he pulled his hat down over his eyes, folded his arms across his chest, and tried to doze, but an active mind interfered with sleep.
The way he had it figured, the red-haired woman was headed for Mexico City. If he’d guessed right, then catching her bordered on hopeless, but he couldn’t return to California and tell Robert that he hadn’t at least tried.
Unfortunately, he’d heard there was a large Anglo population in the capital. An Americana and a Mexican child wouldn’t be an anomaly there. Plus, Mexico City was huge. He’d never find the red-haired woman and his niece.
Opening his eyes, he shoved up the brim of his hat and frowned out the window past streaks of soot and oily smoke. The train had entered a fertile valley enclosed by the wrinkled arms of the Sierra Madres. Small farms appeared with increasing frequency, brave patches of green scratched out of the grey-brown earth. He spotted slag piles spilling down the face of hills thrusting up from the valley floor.
Before the train arrived at Durango, he had to decide if he would get off and give the town a cursory search just in case that was the red-haired woman’s destination, although he couldn’t think why it would be. He doubted she was interested in the thermal springs, and she wasn’t a miner.
He stayed on the train after it stopped at the Durango station, scowling out the window, trying to decide if it was worth looking for her here or if he’d be wasting time.
The town was larger than he had expected, housing perhaps ten to fifteen thousand souls. He saw a church spire rising near the center of town, watched the sun sinking past a surprising number of trees. Losing interest in the town, he idly watched a flock of child beggars descend on the passengers stepping out of the train. When the children were certain no further prey would emerge from the cars, they ran after the people walking toward waiting carts or carriages.
Ty’s gaze settled on one of the children who had remained behind. She stared at the train with utter despair, her shoulders dropped, her small body trembling on the verge of collapse. Her hair was filthy and wild, and a thin shapeless rag covered her frame. What a waste, he thought. She was going to be a beauty one day. With those eyes…
“What?” Abruptly, he sat up straight and his gaze sharpened. He knew those eyes as well as he knew his own. Hell, he ought to. He stared into those same blue-green eyes every morning in his shaving mirror.
Before he could recover from the shock of finding his niece so easily and in such unexpected circumstances, a man pushed away from the side wall of the depot and stormed toward her. No, not a man. A woman dressed in male trousers and a lightweight poncho that swung open at the side slits to reveal a pistol strapped to her waist.
Ty couldn’t believe his eyes. She had done something to her hair, and now it was as black as roofing pitch. Stiff waxy tufts stuck out between her ears and her hat. Whoever the hell this woman was, she didn’t possess a stitch of female vanity, that was for damned certain.
It was also certain that she was furious. Although he couldn’t hear what she was shouting, she started waving her arms and screaming at his niece even before she reached the girl.
Ty rose out of his seat, bending to the window while hastily gathering his belongings. With large hopeless eyes, his niece watched the raging advance of the now black-haired woman. As the woman rushed forward, her expression hardened and her arm rose as if she intended to beat Ty’s niece into pulp.
