Page 4 of The Promise of Jenny Jones
“Well, son of a bitch!” Jenny pulled a hand through her hair. After a minute she glared at Marguarita. “You’re sticking me with a kid, possibly for the rest of my life, and I’ll have a bunch of murdering Mexicans trying to track me down and kill me. That’s a heavy price.”
“You will be alive,” Marguarita reminded her softly, meeting Jenny’s gaze. She glanced at the shadows creeping across the stone walls. “Now you must decide. If we are to make the exchange, I have much to arrange and little time.”
Two minutes ticked by in the heat while Jenny thought about it. A sigh lifted her breast.
“You know I’ll do it. You knew that when you bribed your way in here.” She shook her head and closed her eyes.
Tears of relief glistened in Marguarita Sanders’s eyes. “Let us be clear what each of us is promising. I promise to die in your place tomorrow morning. You promise to take Graciela to her father and give her to no one else. If Roberto cannot or will not take our daughter,” a cloud of pain crossed her features, “then you will raise Graciela as your own child. You will try to love her.”
“Oh no.” Jenny’s head snapped up and her eyes narrowed. “I’m not promising to love some kid I’ve never met and already know I won’t like. I’ll take her to Robert. And I’ll raise her up to be a woman if I have to, but don’t expect me to love her. I can’t do that.”
“You’re a hard woman, Jenny Jones.”
“You don’t know the half of it! My pa beat me from the time I was old enough to walk. The only person I ever loved, Billy, my third brother, died when I was nine, and it was my fault. My ma threw me out onto the streets of Denver when I was ten. I’ve been making my own way ever since. Yeah, you could say I’m a hard woman.”
Compassion glistened in Senora Sanders’s brown eyes. “I’m sorry. This should not happen to any child.”
“You’re going to die tomorrow, and you’re sorry for me?” Something sharp turned in Jenny’s chest. “You’re either a fool or a better person than I’ve ever met,” she whispered, staring.
The terrible truth of their transaction gripped her mind in a painful squeeze. This lovely, delicate woman would die tomorrow morning. Marguarita Sanders would face the firing squad in Jenny’s place because she loved her child better than whatever life was left to her. She would spend her remaining hours arranging for Jenny’s escape. She would say good-bye to a child she adored. With all this facing her, she could still feel compassion for a stranger’s squalid past.
“What will I tell Graciela when she asks what happened to you?” Jenny said, swallowing hard.
“She is wiser than her years. I will tell her the truth,” Marguarita said, standing. She shook her skirts, but the filth from the floor did not fall away. “I don’t want her to blame you for my death. She must understand this was my choice.”
“Assuming we aren’t killed by your cousins… and assuming that Robert is dead or something.” Jenny coughed uncomfortably. “What if Graciela asks me what kind of person you were? I don’t know anything about you.”
Marguarita’s eyes settled on the iron bars. “Tell her that I loved her and her father. Tell her that I tried to live my life with kindness and dignity.” She turned her gaze on Jenny. “Then tell her to forget me and honor the woman who raised her.”
They studied each other in silence. Then Jenny said softly, “You can be a hard woman, too.”
“Tell her not to burden herself with the past. Tell her to live and be strong, Jenny Jones. Teach her to laugh and to love. If she does this, and if she finds happiness, then wherever I am, I will smile and be happy.”
“Oh Christ.” Jenny scrubbed a dirty hand across her eyes. When Jenny realized Marguarita meant to embrace her, she hastily stepped backward. “I’m dirty, and I’ve got lice.”
Amusement twinkled in Marguarita’s eyes and a hint of color bloomed on her cheeks. “Senorita Jones,” she said, smiling, “the lice will not trouble me long.”
She wrapped her thin arms around Jenny’s waist and rested her head on Jenny’s shoulder. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I will pray for you, Jenny Jones.”
Jenny waved her hands in the air, then, helplessly, she returned Marguarita Sander’s embrace, careful not to apply too much pressure against birdlike bones. Marguarita’s size and delicacy made Jenny feel huge and awkward. As graceless as a new calf.
When she stepped away, embarrassed and clumsy, she dusted her hands together and stared at Senora Sanders, memorizing her features in the fading light. “I don’t know what to say. If it’s possible to get Graciela to California… then I swear on my sacred oath, I’ll do it.”
“I know you will.” Marguarita stepped to the bars set in the doorway and summoned her strength to call the guard. “There won’t be time to say good-bye when I see you tomorrow morning. So I will say good-bye now.” She smiled and pressed Jenny’s big callused hands between her small soft palms. “There are not words to express what I feel in my heart. Gratitude. Appreciation. Love. They do not touch the surface of what I feel for you. You are the salvation of my heart, which is my daughter. You are the answer to my prayers. You are the mother I give to my child.”
“Some fricking mother,” Jenny muttered.
Marguarita smiled and pressed Jenny’s hands. “I think you will surprise yourself,” she said gently. “I think you will love our Graciela. Your way will not be what mine would have been, but it will be good and strong and true. If you must, you will guide our daughter, yours and mine, into a womanhood we will both be proud of. I know this.”
Jenny stared at her. The woman was dreaming. She started to say so, then stopped herself. If it comforted Marguarita to delude herself that Jenny possessed hidden reservoirs of motherly virtues, then so be it. If that thought would ease her last hours, then Jenny was not cruel enough to take that comfort away from her.
When the guard opened the door, he shoved Jenny across the cell with a snarl, then stepped back to let Senora Sanders pass.
Jenny picked herself up off the cell floor, rushed to the door, and gripped the bars at the tiny window. “I’ve given my word!” she shouted into the stench of the corridor. “… I’ve given you my word!” She wanted to say something else, something more, but she couldn’t think of the right words. Maybe she was saying what Marguarita wanted to hear, that was her hope.
Long into the night, she sat on the bare mattress, cracking lice in the darkness, and thinking about the woman who would die in her place when the sun rose.
And thinking about the kid, Graciela. And the murderous cousins who would come after them. And pondering with a sinking heart what she considered the very real possibility that she would be stuck with the kid for the next twelve years and maybe longer.
