Page 25 of The Promise of Jenny Jones
Lord, didn’t she wish she could dump the kid on Dona Theodora’s doorstep and ride away without a backward glance. “That isn’t what your mother wanted. Look, kid, I gave her my word. I promised.”
Graciela gazed down at her lap, pulled her napkin through her fingers. “Mama won’t know if you kept your promise…” she whispered.
“I’llknow!” Jenny glared. “When Jenny Jones gives her word, by God the thing is as good as done! This doesn’t have anything to do with your mother anymore. Here’s how it is, kid. After you give a promise, see, the person you gave it to is out of the deal. It’s just you and the promise. If you keep the promise, then you’re somebody. You did right. But if you fail, then you might as well stick a knife in your gut because you aren’t worth spit. You’re a person with no fricking honor. Now that’s how it is. And that’s why your butt is going to California.”
Graciela lowered her head and stared at her empty supper plate. A tear rolled down her cheek and plopped on the table.
“Now, you wrecked our plan, you worried me half out of my mind, and something terrible could have happened to you. This tells me that we need some rules. I want your promise that you won’t run away again.”
“I won’t promise that,” Graciela said in a low voice.
“Kid, I’m not going to cut your hair. I changed my mind. Look over there on the bureau. I bought some hairpins. We’ll pin your hair up under a boy’s hat. I should have thought of this before. If you don’t take off the hat, it should be all right.”
“Stop calling me kid! My name is Graciela. I hate it when you call me kid.”
Jenny’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. She had to stop thinking that Graciela was a miniature Marguarita. Etiquette and convention were making inroads on the kid, but they hadn’t yet quenched her fire.
“All right,” she said slowly, thinking over the request. “I can agree to that… if you’ll agree to stop crying over every little damned thing.”
They measured each other, weighing their negotiating strengths.
“I’ll try,” Graciela finally conceded. “But you don’t think anything is worth crying over, and some thingsare.”
“Maybe,” Jenny said doubtfully. “At your age anyway. You’ve got to agree to dress like a boy. And you’ve got to stop asking ‘why’ all the time because you’re driving me crazy.”
“I’ll dress like a boy if you’ll stop threatening to hit me. It scares me.”
Jenny considered. “Well, I can’t agree to that,” she said finally. “If ever I saw a kid who needs hitting, you’re that kid.”
“Why?”
“See? There you go with the why crap. Damn it!”
“I want to know.”
“You need hitting because you’re a superior, arrogant little snot and you think you’re better than… other people.” Color rose in Jenny’s cheeks. “You don’t do what you’re told. You think you know everything when you don’t know anything. You wish I was dead. You don’t believe me or your mother about your greedy cousins. You have perfect manners and prissy ways. You don’t know how to do anything useful, and your hankie is always clean. Of course I want to hit you.”
Graciela’s lips pulled down at the corners. “Well, you walk like a man, and you don’t say please or thank you. You got in afightwith my cousins.” She shuddered. “You’re always angry, and you don’t say your prayers at night. You talk bad, and you smokecigarswhen you think I’m asleep. You don’t know my father, and you didn’t even know my mama. You have hair between your legs, and the hair on your head is ugly. You aren’t a lady.”
Jenny stood and looked out the window. The night was soft and hot; a million stars spangled the sky. She saw only one.
“I guess we know where we stand,” she said finally. “That’s good. But I’ve had about as much negotiation as I can stand for one night, and judging from those yawns, I’m guessing you have, too. So get your butt in bed, and we’ll talk more about rules tomorrow.”
“Why do I have to go to sleep before you do?”
“Because I want to read my dictionary and get my thoughts settled down. And because I’m the adult, and you’re nothing but a kid. Listen… you promised to stop asking why.”
“I didn’t promise.”
Kids ran a person around in circles. Jenny didn’t know why any woman willingly became a parent. Prior to this journey she had believed that skinning carcasses was the worst occupation in the world. Now she was convinced that raising children made skinning carcasses look like a plum job. When it occurred to her that she might have to spend the next ten or twelve years raising Graciela, despair nearly knocked her to her knees.
“Put on your nightgown and get into bed.” Scowling up at Marguarita’s star, she waited until Graciela was ready to say her prayers, then she sighed and crossed the room to sit on the edge of the bed.
“You should kneel,” Graciela reprimanded her.
“You’re the one saying the prayers, not me. So say them and get it over with.”
“At least close your eyes.”
