Read Online The Promise of Jenny Jones by Maggie Osborne - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Maggie Osborne
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pantomimed drinking. "Pulque."
A low hiss of relief and contempt buzzed through the hot closeness of the night, and conversation resumed. A slender man, his upper lip concealed by a luxuriant mustache, addressed the others in a fusillade of words that he fired like bullets.
What the man said drove all thoughts of food out of Ty's head. He blinked at a savory pozole and a stack of flour tortillas, all appetite gone. After forcing himself to sample the stew, he concentrated on molding his expression into one of uncomprehending indifference.
Within minutes he understood that Marguarita Barrancas Sanders was dead. What shocked the hell out of him was to learn that she had been executed by a firing squad. Disbelief pinched his nostrils. He could sooner imagine his father rising from the grave than he could imagine Marguarita Barrancas committing a crime worthy of execution.
Old man Barrancas had sheltered Marguarita from the outside world, and Ty hadn't seen her often while they were growing up. When he did catch a glimpse, she had reminded him of a large-eyed doe, timid and poised to spring away. She had grown into a shy beauty with downcast eyes,who hid behind the curtains of her carriage or the edges of her fan. On those rare occasions when Ty had heard her speak, her voice had been low and musical and almost apologetic.
This fragile creature had died against an executioner's wall?
Highborn Mexican women were reared like hothouse flowers, protected and sheltered from life's unpleasant realities. They were guarded by hawkeyed duennas, fiercely shielded from insult by male relatives. Ty had long pondered how Robert had managed to get Marguarita alone long enough to impregnate her, and what he had seen in her to make him wish to bed her. From what Ty had observed of the aristocratic families in northernCalifornia, a patrician Mexican woman was the most boring creature in femininity. She prayed, embroidered, and gazed at the world with eloquent indifference.
What in God's name had such a woman done to merit a firing squad?
Pushing aside the platter of pozole, Ty leaned back on the legs of his chair and swallowed a long draft of pulque, letting the fiery alcohol burn down his gullet. Removing a penknife from the top of his boot, he lazily pared his fingernails, listening intently.
Gradually he culled the information that the slender man with the proud mustache was named Emil and was apparently one of Marguarita's Barrancas cousins. Fury twisted Cousin Emil's features as he shouted and exhorted those in the cantina to join him in pursuing a witch who had cast a spell on Marguarita.
"Think, Emil!" A woman stood, clutching a shawl to her breast though the night was hot. "You knew your cousin. Could theAmericanahave persuaded the senora to die against her will? The senora could have cried out and exposed the pretense. But she did not. What does this tell you?"
"It tells me Marguarita was bewitched." Emil gazed at the faces frowning up at him. "Are we to sit idle and allow a murderess to kill my cousin and kidnap her daughter?" He spit on the ground in disgust. "Do the men of this village have no honor?"
Until this moment Ty had not known if Robert's child was a girl or a boy. So it was a girl. He had a niece.
The woman stepped farther into the light and spoke into a swell of angry voices. "Senora Sanders was dying. Everyone knows this. I have it from the senora's own lips that it was her plan to switch places with theAmericana. In return, theAmericanaagreed to take Graciela to her father in NorteAmerica."
Emil flattened his palms on the table and leaned forward. His eyes glittered dangerously. "You lie. My cousin would never have trusted her daughter to a witch, to a convicted murderess. If Marguarita wanted Graciela to go north, which I am sure she did not, she would have asked me or Luis or Chulo to undertake this journey. Never would she ask a stranger."
The woman hesitated. A sharp reply hovered on her tongue, but she
A low hiss of relief and contempt buzzed through the hot closeness of the night, and conversation resumed. A slender man, his upper lip concealed by a luxuriant mustache, addressed the others in a fusillade of words that he fired like bullets.
What the man said drove all thoughts of food out of Ty's head. He blinked at a savory pozole and a stack of flour tortillas, all appetite gone. After forcing himself to sample the stew, he concentrated on molding his expression into one of uncomprehending indifference.
Within minutes he understood that Marguarita Barrancas Sanders was dead. What shocked the hell out of him was to learn that she had been executed by a firing squad. Disbelief pinched his nostrils. He could sooner imagine his father rising from the grave than he could imagine Marguarita Barrancas committing a crime worthy of execution.
Old man Barrancas had sheltered Marguarita from the outside world, and Ty hadn't seen her often while they were growing up. When he did catch a glimpse, she had reminded him of a large-eyed doe, timid and poised to spring away. She had grown into a shy beauty with downcast eyes,who hid behind the curtains of her carriage or the edges of her fan. On those rare occasions when Ty had heard her speak, her voice had been low and musical and almost apologetic.
This fragile creature had died against an executioner's wall?
Highborn Mexican women were reared like hothouse flowers, protected and sheltered from life's unpleasant realities. They were guarded by hawkeyed duennas, fiercely shielded from insult by male relatives. Ty had long pondered how Robert had managed to get Marguarita alone long enough to impregnate her, and what he had seen in her to make him wish to bed her. From what Ty had observed of the aristocratic families in northernCalifornia, a patrician Mexican woman was the most boring creature in femininity. She prayed, embroidered, and gazed at the world with eloquent indifference.
What in God's name had such a woman done to merit a firing squad?
Pushing aside the platter of pozole, Ty leaned back on the legs of his chair and swallowed a long draft of pulque, letting the fiery alcohol burn down his gullet. Removing a penknife from the top of his boot, he lazily pared his fingernails, listening intently.
Gradually he culled the information that the slender man with the proud mustache was named Emil and was apparently one of Marguarita's Barrancas cousins. Fury twisted Cousin Emil's features as he shouted and exhorted those in the cantina to join him in pursuing a witch who had cast a spell on Marguarita.
"Think, Emil!" A woman stood, clutching a shawl to her breast though the night was hot. "You knew your cousin. Could theAmericanahave persuaded the senora to die against her will? The senora could have cried out and exposed the pretense. But she did not. What does this tell you?"
"It tells me Marguarita was bewitched." Emil gazed at the faces frowning up at him. "Are we to sit idle and allow a murderess to kill my cousin and kidnap her daughter?" He spit on the ground in disgust. "Do the men of this village have no honor?"
Until this moment Ty had not known if Robert's child was a girl or a boy. So it was a girl. He had a niece.
The woman stepped farther into the light and spoke into a swell of angry voices. "Senora Sanders was dying. Everyone knows this. I have it from the senora's own lips that it was her plan to switch places with theAmericana. In return, theAmericanaagreed to take Graciela to her father in NorteAmerica."
Emil flattened his palms on the table and leaned forward. His eyes glittered dangerously. "You lie. My cousin would never have trusted her daughter to a witch, to a convicted murderess. If Marguarita wanted Graciela to go north, which I am sure she did not, she would have asked me or Luis or Chulo to undertake this journey. Never would she ask a stranger."
The woman hesitated. A sharp reply hovered on her tongue, but she
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