The Promise of Jenny Jones (20 page)

Graciela knew the coiled snake would strike at any movement, so she fought to hold her shaking body still even though every muscle trembled and her brain screamed at her to run. Whispering through dry lips, she prayed that one of her cousins would shoot the hissing snake before it struck her. But none of them moved.

Shocked and dizzy with horror, she watched the third snake wind toward her. And she shook violently as it glided over the top of her shoe,then disappeared behind her. She desperately wanted to peer over her shoulder to make sure the snake continued toward the desert. Irrationally, she was terrifyingly certain that the snake would slip beneath her hem and twist up her leg before it sank its fangs into her flesh. She could only hope the snake wasn't sliding under her hem at this very minute, but she dared not look to see if it was. The movement would attract the coiled snake, the hissing snake that posed the greatest danger.

Striding forward, Favre shoved Tito out of his way,then shot the head off the coiled snake. Graciela jumped at the sound of the gunshot. Relief crumpled her bones and she fell to the ground as limp as a pile of rags. Almost at once, she leaped to her feet and shook her skirt furiously, then peered anxiously around her, frantically wiping at her tears in order to see better. Knowing the other two snakes were out there, maybe just beyond the light cast by the campfire, made her shake with fear.

Favre stared at Tito, and his lip curled. "El Stupido!" Kneeling, he withdrew a knife from his belt and began to skin the snake he'd shot. One of the others laughed,then everyone returned to their tasks and finished setting up camp.

Deeply frightened, Graciela wiped her eyes and peered at Tito, expecting him to apologize for an accident that could easily have gotten her killed, expecting him to hug and pet her, hoping for reassurance. But he returned her gaze with cold eyes, and all he said was, "You are very lucky, chica."

Confused and still stunned, Graciela moved close to the fire and extended trembling hands toward the flames. She took care to stand well away from the dead snake.

After setting two forked sticks, Favre draped the skinned snake above the fire to cook. Graciela could not look at it. And when the time came to eat, her stomach rebelled. She tasted a few spoonfuls of rice and nibbled at a tortilla, but she didn't touch the lumps of wasted snake.

After the dishes were tossed aside, her cousins brought out a bottle of tequila and passed it among themselves. Occasionally one of them studied her with eyes kept carefully blank. The snakes were gone—she fervently hoped—but her fear remained.

Now that the incident had receded somewhat, Graciela found terrible thoughts creeping into her mind. As hard as she struggled to banish the thought, she felt a growing conviction that dropping the sack of snakes at her feet had been no accident. In the instant before Tito dropped the sack, he had looked at her with dark greedy eyes, and a small smile of anticipation had curved beneath his mustache.

None of the cousins had rushed to snatch her away from the snakes. None had drawn the pistol at his hip until Favre finally stepped forward. Shifting her gaze to his fire-lit face, she wondered if Favre had acted to save her, or if he had merely feared that the last snake would escape to the desert and they would have no meat with their beans and rice.

"Your bedroll is over there," Cousin Jorje said, jerking his head toward the darkness. Twitching, Graciela turned large eyes to him, mute with silent terror. "The snakes are long gone," Jorje said impatiently. When she still could not move, he strode away from the fire, pulling her by the elbow. While she watched, trembling and quiet, he turned out her blankets to show her nothing fanged or poisonous waited within. "Go to sleep now," he ordered in a voice she recognized. It was the voice grown-ups used when they wished to discuss adult matters that children should not hear.

"Good night," she whispered, feeling abandoned as Cousin Jorje strode away from her, returning to the safety and companionship of the campfire.

Before she crawled into her bedroll, she walked on top of it even though she had watched Cousin Jorje shake out the blankets. When she felt nothing snake-shaped beneath her shoes, she reluctantly slid inside and turned anxious eyes toward the fire.

For the first time in her young life, Graciela Sanders did not feel safe in the presence of relatives. Something was very wrong. These men were not cousins she saw frequently, like Luis or Chulo, but she remembered the men around the fire as being talkative and boastful, teasing and gay.

No one had laughed tonight. There had been no jests or merrymaking along the trail or around the fire. They had not petted her or heaped lavish compliments on her as they had at Aunt Tete's hacienda. They had treated her like an unwelcome stranger.

After murmuring hasty prayers, she wrenched her mind from disturbing thoughts and let herself recall the softness of her bed at home and the row of vividly clad dolls on her shelf. Her books, her slate,the small box of treasures she hadn't thought to see again. These memories cheered her.

But when she remembered that she would never again run to her mother's room to share cups of morning chocolate, would never say her prayers with her mother kneeling beside her, would not ride in the carriage breathing her mother's perfume or hear her mother's voice, a rush of pain crushed her chest.

Her mother was dead, and she was afraid of the men at the campfire.

Burrowing deeper into the blankets, struggling not to cry, Graciela sought something good to think about. She thought about telling her friend Consuelo about her recent adventures.

Consuelo had never ridden a train or seen a town the size ofDurango, she was sure of it. Certainly Consuelo had never had a day alone withno duenna or family in attendance. Nor had she dressed her own hair or bathed in a stream. Consuelo's eyes would widen and she would gasp when she learned that Graciela had exchanged clothing with a street urchin and that Graciela had eaten food cooked over an open fire and had slept on the ground.

"Is she asleep yet?"

When Cousin Jorje came quietly to look at her, she squeezed her eyes shut and pretended not to know he stood over her gazing down. After she heard the chink of his spurs retreating, she returned her thoughts to Consuelo, trying to decide how she would explain Jenny to her friend.

Jenny had killed her mother and Graciela hated her for that. But it was also true that Jenny had cared for her when she was ill, and Jenny had taught her good things to know. She resented that Jenny treated her like a servant, yet Jenny's approval had become oddly important to her.

Conflicting views confused her, so she turned her mind to UncleTy instead, wondering if she would ever see him again. Here, too, her mind tugged in differing directions. Uncle Ty had been nice to her, and she liked him well enough, but she had an uneasy sense that uncle Ty didn't particularly like her in return.

This suspicion upset her badly. All her life she had been fussed over, petted, loved. Without a doubt, she knew that she had been the center of her mother's life. She was her aunt Tete's favorite. Until tonight, she had unquestioningly believed that she was loved and adored by all her cousins.

That she might not be loved by all the people in her life was a new and frightening thought that shocked her deeply.

Brushing a tear from her cheek, she closed her eyes tightly and wished the day's exhaustion would carry her into slumber. But as her thoughts quieted, she became aware of low, tense voices rising and falling around the campfire.

"We know what has to be done," she heard Jorje say. The harshness underlying his voice sharpened her attention. "Since the snakes didn't solve our problem, I say we do it ourselves."

"For the love of God. She's just a child!" This was Favre, who had shot the snake before it struck, who had danced with Graciela on her last name day.

"Not so loud."

"Luis and Emil have decided a certain person has to die," Favre said, speaking so quietly that Graciela had to strain to hear. "So let them kill her."

"And let them inherit all of Don Antonio's money?" Tito said sharply. "Is that what you want?"

Graciela's breath stopped and gathered around a pounding heart. They were speaking of her grandfather Antonio. And herself. Jenny had been right. Her cousins wanted her dead.

The idea of this was too devastating, too enormous and unthinkable to comprehend. Stiff with fear and fresh shock, she lay in the darkness, gripping her blankets and shaking.

"You're fools if you think we'll ever see a centavo of Don Antonio's wealth." Carlos rose to his feet, silhouetted by the dying flames. He waved his arms in an angry gesture. "Already Luis and Chulo are planning their journey to NorteAmericato tell Don Antonio that his daughter and granddaughter are dead. Who do you think Don Antonio's new heirs will be? You're loco if you think Luis and Chulo will remember to mention us."

Jorje also stood. "That's why I say we take care of this problem." He cast a glance over his shoulder toward Graciela's bedroll. "And we insist that one of us goes with Luis and Chulo,then they can't cut us out. We found her. If we"—he shot another glance over his shoulder—"dispose of this problem, then we have Luis and Chulo right here." He pounded a fist in the palm of his hand.

"She'sa Barrancas ," Favre snarled. "Like you. Like me. You would kill a member of your own family? I spit on all of you."

In the sudden silence, Graciela heard the thunder of her heart knocking against her ribs. A torrent of tears streamed down her cheeks, and the hands gripping her blankets shook like dry twigs. Panic and fear squeezed her chest accompanied by an ache that she was too young to recognize as the pain of betrayal.

What could she do? There was nowhere to run, no place to hide. Wiping frantically at the tears wetting her face, she tried to think of a way to escape, but no answers came.

"Help me," she whispered, curling her fingers around the locket pinned to her chest. She could not have said to whom she addressed the urgent plea. To God? To the tiny portrait of her mother? Or did she hope that Jenny would find her again as she had inDurango?

When dawn tinted the sky with streaks of pink and blue, sherose reluctantly and silently, her eyes dull and bruised from lack of sleep. Now she, too, held herself distant and withdrawn. Now she refused to meet her cousins' eyes for fear they would glimpse how profoundly frightened she was.

"Time to vamoose," Jorje announced after they had eaten and packed the saddlebags. He extended his arms to lift her onto his horse, but Graciela shook her head.

"I want to ride with Favre," she whispered.

"As you wish," Cousin Jorje agreed with a shrug. He gave Favre a long, narrowed look before he mounted his horse.

With a flourish, Favre bowed before her, then lifted her onto his saddle and swung up behind her. Graciela longed to thank him for his words on her behalf, but she feared admitting she'd overhead part of their conversation. She could almost hear Jenny saying: protect your backside, give nothing away.

When they stopped atmiddayto seek shelter from the blazing sun, Graciela shaded her eyes and anxiously scanned the rolling, empty horizon. Buzzards circled a cluster of cacti to the north, and she spotted a hawk diving through wavy shimmers of heat floating near the ground, but she saw no riders.

"Are you worried that the red-haired witch is following?" Cousin Jorje asked,handing her a goatskin filled with water.

"A little," Graciela said, not looking at him.

He laughed and puffed out his chest. "They won't follow." When he said "they" she remembered that Uncle Ty had joined Jenny. "Us," he said, thrusting forward four raised fingers. "Them." Two fingers lifted on the other hand, and he laughed again.

Slowly, Graciela nodded. Her heart sank beneath the weight of his words. Before she stepped into the shade, she again searched the horizon, lingering on the dips and rises.

Her cousins smoked or dozed beneath the shade of their sombreros. Occasionally they spoke in low voices among themselves. Made drowsy by the heat and a lack of sleep, Graciela found a spot near a low bush and had drifted into a light, restless slumber when two hands closed around her throat.

Her eyes flew open and she struggled to sit up, grabbing at the fingers circling her neck.

"It would be so easy," Carlos murmured near her ear.

His fingers tightened steadily, pressing into her flesh and Graciela choked, fighting to draw a full breath. Black dots spun in front of her eyes and her lungs burned before a blur flashed across the side of her vision.

Favre's body crashed into Carlos, knocking him away from her. She toppled backward and lay where she had fallen, gasping for air. When she could breathe again, she sat up, swallowing gingerly, and stared at the two men rolling and fighting in the desert dirt. Jorje and Tito stood across from her, also watching, hands on the pistols at their hips.

Graciela didn't know what happened because she turned away, her stomach churning, and she didn't look at the fighting men again until she heard a gunshot. When she dared to look, Favre lay in the dust, his bloody face unrecognizable. Carlos sprawled on his back, Favre's knife buried to the hilt in his chest.

Gasping, choking on horror and tears, Graciela doubled over and vomited in a clump of low cacti.

Jorje swore as Tito checked both men,then looked up shaking his head. He snarled something at Graciela, but her ears still rang from the shot and she didn't hear.

She was too frightened to look at him or Jorje, and her throat made no sound when she tried to speak. She darted one last horrified glance at the blood soaking into Favre's poncho, then she ran a few steps onto the desert and stood with her back to the camp, shaking as if the hot breeze were a gale.

She felt as she had when she was ill, hot and cold at the same time. Her teeth chattered. These were not the laughing cousins who had danced with her and teased her at the hacienda. She didn't know these men; they might have been strangers. Gingerly she touched the bruises beginning to appear where Carlos's fingers had circled her throat, and she swallowed the dark taste of bile and fear.