Page 67 of The Promise of Jenny Jones
“What can I do now?”
“Something quiet. All I know is that I need to lie down and rest.” The trip from depot to hotel had been short, but carriage wheels bouncing over street stones had shaken her so badly that she’d worried her stitches had broken loose. Pulling up her blouse, she checked for wetness on the bandage, relieved to discover the wrappings remained dry.
“I don’t have anything to do,” Graciela said in a whiny pout. “I wish you’d tell me a story.”
“I’m too tired. Go look out the window.” Crawling beneath the blanket, Jenny pushed her face into a soft feather pillow. Pillows were the epitome of luxury. If she could sleep on a soft pillow every night, she’d think she was living the life of a princess.
She was almost asleep when she felt a slight pressure on the mattress. When she opened her eyes, Graciela’s face was only a few inches from hers. The kid knelt beside the bed, her arms folded on the sheets. She rested her chin on her hands, studying Jenny.
“What the hell—dickens—are you doing?”
“I own you.”
“What?” Jenny sat up and stared. “Nobody owns me.”
“Yes I do,” Graciela insisted solemnly. “Uncle Ty explained it.”
After Jenny heard the story, she frowned. “I knew a Chinaman in Denver when I was working in a wash-house, and he never said anything about owning someone if you saved their life.”
“It’s true. Uncle Ty said so.” Graciela fluffed the pillow, and told Jenny to lie back down. Jenny stared, then did so. “I saved your life all by myself, so now I have to take care of you until you die. Owning someone means you have to be responsible for them. Do you know what responsible means?”
“Kid, I know more words than you will ever know in your whole life,” Jenny said in disgust. “And you don’t own me, and you aren’t responsible for me.” Graciela continued to kneel beside the bed, observing her. “Stop looking at me.”
“You and Uncle Ty own me too. Because you saved my life.”
“Now listen.” Jenny sat up again. “Nobody owns you either, and they never will. You own your own self. You’re responsible for yourself, and you take care of yourself. You can’t depend on anyone but yourself.”
Her words hung in the air, giving her time to reach the appalled conclusion that they were not true. She and Ty had depended upon each other almost from the minute they had joined forces. She had depended on Graciela to stitch her up and stop her wound from bleeding.
“All right, sometimes you have to depend on other people,” she amended feebly. After years of being totally self-sufficient, she was suddenly depending on others. The realization shocked her. How had this happened?
Graciela wore the superior little smirk that Jenny hated. What did she know? She was a kid. Kids had to depend on adults for everything.
“It’s time we changed this bandage,” Jenny decided. “Find your nightshift in the saddlebags, and we’ll tear up some more strips. And bring me our little mirror. I want to see these stitches.”
When she peeled off the old bandage, carefully, painfully, she noted there had been some seepage, but no serious bleeding. That was good. She rested a minute against the headboard of the bed, then, when she thought she could stand the sight, she lifted her blouse and adjusted the mirror against her waist.
“Well, that’s some cut all right,” she said finally. Graciela waited with an expectant expression. “You did a good job. Those are nice neat stitches. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you made a living sewing people up.”
Pride glowed on the kid’s face, and her eyes sparkled brightly. “This one was the hardest.” She pointed to the last stitch.
Jenny smiled. “The way I remember, the first one was the hardest.”
Instantly Graciela’s face caved in on itself and tears swam in her eyes. “I didn’t want to hurt you,” she whispered.
A thumb pressed on Jenny’s heart. They’d traveled a long way from Graciela asking God to strike her dead. A long, long way. An embarrassing dampness pricked the back of her own eyes.
“That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me,” she murmured when she could speak past the lump clogging her throat. She hesitated, then patted the bed beside her. “Come up here.”
Graciela climbed on the bed and leaned against her shoulder. “It was so hard, and I was scared. There was all that blood!” A shudder trembled along her body. “And the train was shaking.”
Jenny put her arm around Graciela’s small shoulders and held her. “Sometimes you have to hurt someone to help them. And you’re right. It’s awful hard. But you did it, and I’m proud of you. It looks like you really did save my life.” She paused. “But you don’t own me.” Resting her cheek on the kid’s head, she inhaled the warm dusty scent of her hair. It was a nice scent, a uniquely kid scent. It surprised her how much she enjoyed holding Graciela, smelling her hair.
“Jenny?” Graciela murmured against her chest. “Sometimes I like you.”
Oh God. The admission made Jenny’s throat close, and she thought she might be strangling.
“Do you like me sometimes, too?”
