hooves of a burro. In a flash, Graciela sprang to her feet and ran as fast as she could, skidding around a corner then another corner and another until she was gasping for breath and holding her side.
Stopping to breathe, she gripped the bars of an iron gate to hold herself upright and cast a fearful glance behind to see if the man pursued. The quiet street was deserted. Here there were no noisy vendors; no wagons rattled over the cobblestones. Only the distant splash of a fountain disturbed the silence.
Thick adobe walls lined the street, overhung with leafy branches, shielding fine houses from envy and curiosity. As her heart quieted, Graciela became aware of voices behind the walls and theiron gate , the light voices of servants gossiping and laughing as they attended to their chores.
"Please?" she called. "I need help." Gripping the iron bars, she peered inside at the statue of a saint guarding the doors to a fine house that reminded her of Aunt Tete's hacienda.
Homesickness raised tears to her eyes and made her knees go weak. "Please. Help me!"
A woman approached the gate wearing a frown and a damp apron that smelled like laundry soap. She scowled at Graciela and waved a hand in front of her nose. "Get away from here! Go!" Someone called a question, and she glanced over her shoulder. "It's only a beggar."
Pride lifted Graciela's chin. "I am not a beggar," she said swiftly. "Inform your mistress that Graciela Sanders, the great-niece of Dona Theodora Barrancas y Talmas, begs your lady's kindness and assistance. You will do this at once, por favor."
The washerwoman grinned and rolled her dark eyes toward heaven. "Where did you learn such a pretty speech?" She turned her head to call over her shoulder. "Even the street trash is putting on airs now."
For the first time in her life Graciela spied no respectful recognition at the mention of her aunt's name. This woman—this servant!—laughed at her. Shock and confusion drained the color from her face.
The servant woman waved her hands in a shooing motion. "There's nothing for you here. Get away from the gate or I'll call someone. You won't welcome a beating from Jose." Frowning, not a flicker of sympathy in her gaze, she watched Graciela's shaking hands fall away from the iron bars.
Frightened, Graciela moved out of the woman's line of sight and sank to her knees, pressing her back to the high wall before she covered her face in her hands. Hot tears wet her fingers.
When she left the hotel this morning, she had anticipated a great adventure. She had not been afraid.
Now she trembled with fear. She was lost and hungry, and every stranger who looked at her made her stomach hurt. Overwhelmed by her own helplessness, she sobbed into her hands.
When no more tears would come, she wiped her eyes, hiccupped, and stared at the filth on her toes. She longed for a bath and something to eat.At this moment she would gladly have taken a pair of scissors to her hair if Jenny had appeared at the end of the quiet street.
The thought made her cringe. Forming a fist, an unladylike gesture her mother would have disapproved, she struck the adobe wall.
The hated Jenny would not have given up. And neither would she. Her small chin steadied into a stubborn angle that her mother would have recognized.
She had begun with a plan, and she would see it through. Somehow. If no more bad men grabbed her. If she was fortunate.
What choice did she have?
After a final homesick glance toward the iron gates that closed her away from the only life she knew, she turned away, dragging her bare feet over the rough cobbles toward the noise and smells of commerce and people.
She told herself that Jenny wouldn't have been afraid.
* * *
Sunlight bounced off the Rio Nazas and momentarily blinded Ty as the train chuffed across the bridge. Turning his face from the window, he consulted his pocket watch. The conductor swore they would arrive inDurangoon schedule atseven o'clock, but clearly it would be
Stopping to breathe, she gripped the bars of an iron gate to hold herself upright and cast a fearful glance behind to see if the man pursued. The quiet street was deserted. Here there were no noisy vendors; no wagons rattled over the cobblestones. Only the distant splash of a fountain disturbed the silence.
Thick adobe walls lined the street, overhung with leafy branches, shielding fine houses from envy and curiosity. As her heart quieted, Graciela became aware of voices behind the walls and theiron gate , the light voices of servants gossiping and laughing as they attended to their chores.
"Please?" she called. "I need help." Gripping the iron bars, she peered inside at the statue of a saint guarding the doors to a fine house that reminded her of Aunt Tete's hacienda.
Homesickness raised tears to her eyes and made her knees go weak. "Please. Help me!"
A woman approached the gate wearing a frown and a damp apron that smelled like laundry soap. She scowled at Graciela and waved a hand in front of her nose. "Get away from here! Go!" Someone called a question, and she glanced over her shoulder. "It's only a beggar."
Pride lifted Graciela's chin. "I am not a beggar," she said swiftly. "Inform your mistress that Graciela Sanders, the great-niece of Dona Theodora Barrancas y Talmas, begs your lady's kindness and assistance. You will do this at once, por favor."
The washerwoman grinned and rolled her dark eyes toward heaven. "Where did you learn such a pretty speech?" She turned her head to call over her shoulder. "Even the street trash is putting on airs now."
For the first time in her life Graciela spied no respectful recognition at the mention of her aunt's name. This woman—this servant!—laughed at her. Shock and confusion drained the color from her face.
The servant woman waved her hands in a shooing motion. "There's nothing for you here. Get away from the gate or I'll call someone. You won't welcome a beating from Jose." Frowning, not a flicker of sympathy in her gaze, she watched Graciela's shaking hands fall away from the iron bars.
Frightened, Graciela moved out of the woman's line of sight and sank to her knees, pressing her back to the high wall before she covered her face in her hands. Hot tears wet her fingers.
When she left the hotel this morning, she had anticipated a great adventure. She had not been afraid.
Now she trembled with fear. She was lost and hungry, and every stranger who looked at her made her stomach hurt. Overwhelmed by her own helplessness, she sobbed into her hands.
When no more tears would come, she wiped her eyes, hiccupped, and stared at the filth on her toes. She longed for a bath and something to eat.At this moment she would gladly have taken a pair of scissors to her hair if Jenny had appeared at the end of the quiet street.
The thought made her cringe. Forming a fist, an unladylike gesture her mother would have disapproved, she struck the adobe wall.
The hated Jenny would not have given up. And neither would she. Her small chin steadied into a stubborn angle that her mother would have recognized.
She had begun with a plan, and she would see it through. Somehow. If no more bad men grabbed her. If she was fortunate.
What choice did she have?
After a final homesick glance toward the iron gates that closed her away from the only life she knew, she turned away, dragging her bare feet over the rough cobbles toward the noise and smells of commerce and people.
She told herself that Jenny wouldn't have been afraid.
* * *
Sunlight bounced off the Rio Nazas and momentarily blinded Ty as the train chuffed across the bridge. Turning his face from the window, he consulted his pocket watch. The conductor swore they would arrive inDurangoon schedule atseven o'clock, but clearly it would be
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