by Pat Wahler
“I’ve heard you sing,” I said with a laugh. “They must be in desperate need.”
He took my hand in his and brought it to his lips for a light kiss. “Thank you kindly, miss, for saving me from the sin of conceit. I guess my biggest excitement these days is when a few of the boys I rode with during the war show up. We get to jaw about some of our old battles and what might be in store for us in the future. There’s even been some talk of joining together once in a while and letting the Federals know we haven’t quite forgotten what they did to us.”
I blinked at him. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, I don’t know. We’ll get it figured out. But enough talk of that. I’m considering what I can do to make money and secure our future.”
“I could be quite happy as a farmer’s wife,” I reminded him.
Jesse shook his head. “It’s still too fresh and raw for me. On some days I can live with what’s happened, but other times I think the war won’t ever be over until we get back everything we lost. And there are plenty of people who feel the same way I do.”
I reached in my pocket to touch the penny Jesse had given to me. “I hope you don’t spend so much time living in the past that you forget about the future.”
“The future’s always in my mind. Can’t you see how hard I’m working to get your mama’s approval? It’s about the toughest thing I’ve ever done.”
I sighed. Jesse treated Mama as though she were made of cut crystal, yet every time she glanced at the pistol strapped to his hip, her demeanor cooled. It infuriated me to see her treat him so when I knew he was doing his best to win her affection.
“We must be patient for now,” I said. “But I won’t plan my future around Mama’s wishes, and I’ve told her so.”
My chin trembled and Jesse put his arms around me to kiss away my agitation.
After he left, I decided to take a walk before going back inside, lest I say something to Mama that would set back Jesse’s efforts even more. While tramping near the woods to the chirps of sparrows, my temper cooled enough for me to decide it best to keep myself busy until Jesse or I could come up with a more tangible plan.
Work served as the best antidote for worry, and I had no trouble finding enough to do. I did all my old chores and some of Lucy’s too, now that she spent more time with her beau. She had taken to humming at all hours, smiling dreamily when she hung clothes on the line, and pinning a flower on her dress when Boling was expected for a visit. In my view, there was nothing extraordinary about Lucy’s beau. He was an ordinary man, of ordinary height, with an ordinary—albeit a bit stiff and narrow—moustache. But whenever Lucy entered a room, he leapt to his feet and smiled in a way that left no doubt of his feelings.
As weeks passed, I couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy when Lucy talked of Boling. My last note from Jesse said he’d be leaving the farm for a while. He didn’t tell me where he was going or when he’d be back, and as time went on, I had no way of knowing whether I entered his mind at all. Doubts clouded my thoughts, and I wondered if the engagement had been nothing more than a dream. My mood grew dark and morose. It didn’t help the day Boling came to see Lucy, bringing news that left us reeling.
“According to the newspaper, bandits robbed the Clay County Savings Association in Liberty, right in broad daylight,” he said. “They got away with over fifty-eight thousand dollars. While they were riding out on fast horses, the men let loose a valley of shots and a boy on the street got hit and killed. The sheriff sent a posse after them right away, but the desperados escaped by crossing the Missouri River.”
Papa crossed his arms, leaned back in his chair and shook his head. “I don’t recall ever hearing about a bank robbery that audacious before.”
Boling nodded. “The authorities are calling it the first day-time bank robbery and claim the episode carries the mark of rebel Bushwhackers. The whole town of Liberty is up in arms.” He took a puff of his cigar and blew out a cloud of white smoke. “Between the robbery and all the shooting and fighting going on between citizens who stand with the Federals and those with Southern sympathies, it feels like we’re heading for another civil war bloodier than the first one. Some say the robber gang is most likely led by Arch Clement, so the state is bringing in Union officers to find him.”
My back went ramrod straight. Jesse had talked about how much he admired Archie Clement’s strategy and utter fearlessness during the war. I prayed his loyalty to Clement would not place him anywhere near Liberty. Papa must have had the same thought, as his face lost much of its color.
A sense of foreboding prompted me to rise and excuse myself. If anyone knew Jesse’s whereabouts it would be Zerelda. Barely had I put pen to paper when Mama spoke from behind me. I covered the letter with my hand.
“It has been some time since Jesse sent any correspondence. I’m afraid you are letting your feelings for a young man who does not concern himself with you control your emotions. It is time to face hard facts and think of doing something to plan your own future.” Mama paused to inhale a deep breath. “Boling has spoken to us of his neighbor who is a widower. The man has three small children and is in need of a wife. Lucy finds him a pleasant man, and when Boling inquired, he said he would be most interested in meeting you.”
I turned incredulous eyes on her. “I’m sorry, Mama, but you already know how I feel. I’d rather face the future alone than do as you propose.”
She put her hand on my shoulder.
“My dear, you must remember that love can grow in time. And if not love, then surely companionship.”
“No. I will not consider it.” My voice was shaking as my feelings threatened to overwhelm me.
“Zee, your father and I insist—” I shook off her hand and fled the room before she could finish. Mama had voiced what I feared most—that Jesse had forgotten me. Once in my room, I fell onto my bed and let bitter tears soak my pillow.
I spent the next few days in bed. My head ached, and all I wanted was to sleep. Mama believed my state to be exhaustion, but Lucy knew better. She brought me a tray with warm broth and bathed my forehead in the same soothing manner I had done for Jesse. The reminder did not comfort me, though I was grateful for her presence.
Only upon Lucy’s urging and Mama’s threat to send for the doctor, did I force myself to get out of bed and put on a fresh dress. My hands smoothed the wrinkles from its folds, and I resolved to put the state of my relationship with Jesse to the back of my mind.
As though the timing had been planned, on the first of August, a letter came from Zerelda.
My dear niece,
I hope this finds you well. I’m happy to say Reuben and I welcomed a sweet blond-haired baby boy on 26, July. The child appears strong and robust, so we have high hopes he will grow into a fine man one day. Before Jesse left us, he requested a special favor. He said if the baby was a boy, he wished us to name the child after his most admired comrade. Thus to please him, our child will be christened Archie Peyton Samuel.
I am afraid I cannot answer your questions about my sons, as they do not tell me where they travel. Perhaps they believe such knowledge would cause their old mother to worry overmuch.
Give our warmest regards to your parents. Without the comfort of loved ones, I do not know how we should survive these hard times.
Your faithful aunt,
Zerelda Samuel
Oh, how Zerelda must have leaped at the chance to grant Jesse’s request. It provided another opportunity for her to trumpet her loyalty to her sons’ Bushwhacker comrades. Yet her letter did not lessen my worries a bit, for newspapers soon blazed with the occurrence of yet another robbery, this time in Lexington. The bank turned over more than two thousand dollars to four armed bandits who easily eluded a posse sent after them.
When the leaves started to drop from our trees, I shivered to think of the frigid air that would soon come. I despised the confinement and dark silence of winter, and the thought of struggling through a deep blanket of snow to feed o
ur chickens made me want to crawl deeper under the covers.
Still, preparing for the cold, lean months kept us busy. While Papa and Uncle Thomas pounded nails to secure loose boards on the house and patched a hole in the roof of the chicken coop, Mama and I spent hours in the kitchen, cutting up ripe tomatoes, squash, and green beans to simmer and put away for the bleak time ahead.
On a day swirling with snow just before Christmas, Boling came to the house dressed in a new gray suit. He and Lucy sat together on the walnut settee. She kept her eyes cast down, while Boling slipped a finger into his collar as though it were pinching his neck. Aunt Susan stayed in the kitchen to clean while Mama carried in a tray of biscuits, still warm and fragrant from baking in the Dutch oven.
Papa took a biscuit and smiled.
“It’s been a while since we’ve seen a paper, Boling. You keep up with the news. Can you tell us what’s been going on?”
Boling placed a biscuit on a napkin draped over his knee and paused a moment before answering.
“As a matter of fact, there is some news that may interest you. I heard a large group of men who fought under Quantrill rode into Lexington a few days ago, saying they wanted to enlist in the militia. The sheriff let them sign up but then said they had to clear out of town. All of them did what he asked, except for their leader, that old cut-throat Archie Clement.”
I kept my eyes on the floor as Uncle Thomas asked what I wondered. “Do they know who rode in with them?”
“That’s what I wanted to tell you. Reports say there were about twenty-six men altogether,” Boling’s face reddened, “and two of them were identified as Frank and Jesse James.”
I shifted in my chair and couldn’t hold my tongue any longer. “But if they did nothing more serious than ride into town to enlist, what’s wrong with that?”
“You’re right,” Boling hastened to add. “They rode out of town with the others as ordered. But Arch Clement didn’t go. Instead he went over to the hotel and bought himself a drink. A soldier confronted him, and then the shooting started. Clement tried to run and was gunned down on the street. A reporter wrote a story that condemned his killing, and the next thing anyone knew, the Federals went and tore up the newspaper office.”
A log from the fireplace popped, making me jump, and a glowing cinder flew out on the hearth. It hissed there until Uncle Thomas shoveled it back into the fireplace.
I put down the biscuit I’d been holding. I knew Jesse counted Archie Clement among his best friends and that news of his death would hit him hard. And I knew, too, that the news would stoke his sorrow into fury.
Papa sighed, his eyes grave. “It’s not surprising resentment still simmers. With all that’s happened, too many disagreements are settled by gunfire. All we can do is pray for reconciliation. I believe that is our best hope.”
I held no illusions that prayer would make those still intent on fighting take a peaceful course. Heavenly intercession had not helped prevent war, so why would it help secure peace now? I threw my biscuit into the fire and shook the crumbs from my skirt. I decided to confine my own prayers to those of a woman for her loved ones. I would pray for my family. I would pray for Jesse.
11
Papa’s knuckles were white on the packages he handed me. “We must be very cautious,” he said, climbing down from the wagon. He and Uncle Thomas had been into town. Mama and I had met them at the barn to help with the goods they bought. “Today I heard of a Baptist minister with Southern sympathies who was beaten when he tried to resume preaching to his flock.”
“Beaten for spreading the gospel?” Mama asked, incredulity making her voice high and thin.
Papa’s face was grim. “Beaten for speaking his mind,” he said. “Since the Federals have been ordered to stop any hint of rebellion, they’ll be keeping a close watch over anyone they think is stirring trouble. There’s been talk in town about Frank and Jesse. I believe some of these comments were made for our benefit.”
I’d heard the tales of Federal outrages, of neighbors who—because of southern sympathies—were refused loans or had their property seized and sold for pennies on the dollar to benefit railroad expansion. Many of our friends shared Frank’s and Jesse’s anger. Their perspective was certainly not unique among those tired of living under Federal occupation, and I knew many wished they could take the law into their own hands. I shuddered to think of the Union man—an officer!—who’d taken advantage of a young girl in Lafayette County. When the Federals refused to arrest him, he was found hanging from a tree in his own front yard. Local gossips and reporters told many such stories of retaliation against Union sympathizers, including robberies, intimidation, and even cold-blooded murder. Jesse, Frank, and other guerilla rebels were often named as suspects, although, I noticed, with very little evidence.
We were all tired of the turmoil, but Uncle Thomas and Aunt Susan found the constant state of unrest unbearable. One day, they sat us down and said they planned to move to Kentucky within the month, since there was little money now to be made at the boarding house. Their sons had moved to Kentucky after the war, and my aunt and uncle now planned to join them, waiting out the uncertainty of Reconstruction—along with the hunt for Frank and Jessee—in a place distant from the constant state of tension in Missouri.
“I feel we’re deserting you,” Uncle Thomas said, “but we cannot live this way any longer. It’s time for us to join our boys. Susan misses them, and so do I. They say life is quieter in Kentucky these days. Perhaps someday, we will return.”
Just a few short weeks later, Mama hugged her brother and wiped the tears from her eyes. Then she turned to Aunt Susan and the two women wrapped their arms around each other, holding tight. “Have a safe journey,” Mama whispered, “and let us know as soon as you’re settled.”
Papa held out his hand to Uncle Thomas who gripped it firmly. “I hope you find what you’re looking for,” Papa said. “We’ll do our best to keep the boarding house open, and I’ll send you money when I can.”
The fear of repercussions from Frank and Jesse’s growing notoriety had wearied us all. As the number of robberies at Union-held banks mounted, the rumors multiplied and Jesse and Frank were nearly always in the middle of them. Although I knew Jesse wanted to make the Federals pay for their misdeeds, I couldn’t imagine him being responsible for half of the things others accused him of doing. On one occasion, a newspaper reported the James gang robbed a Texas bank. The next day, another story claimed the gang had held up a bank in Tennessee. Even to my biased eye, such a crime spree could hardly be possible.
Jesse and Frank stayed far from their mother’s farm, where the sheriff too often rode near. Nor did Jesse come to see me. Local authorities posted rewards and scoured the countryside. I even heard the banks might band together and hire the Pinkerton Agency to find the culprits. It infuriated Zerelda to know eyes were on her farm, and she told us how she despised the idea of anyone keeping her sons away. I silently agreed.
Sheriff Wilson even paid a visit to us. Fingering the edges of his battered hat, he looked almost as worn out as his horse.
“Mr. Mimms, I’d like permission to search your place.”
Papa did not invite him in. “May I ask the reason?”
“You know we’re looking for your nephews, along with a few of their cronies from the war. Seems they may be keeping a mite busy visiting banks across the region.”
Papa’s head lifted, and he fixed a stern gaze on the sheriff. “So you are planning to arrest them?”
“At the very least, they need to answer some questions. But right now, my concern is figuring out where they are. I’ve got men searching the woods, but if it takes a court order to search your house, I’ll go to the judge and get one.”
“That won’t be necessary. You may make your search. You will not find what you’re looking for here.”
The sheriff tromped through the house, peering in each room before ambling about in the yard to poke in the barn and chicken coop. He even open
ed the door to stare inside the privy. After his inspection, he nodded to Papa and climbed on his horse to ride with empty hands back into town.
Later in the day, Sheriff Wilson came back with a grim report. One of his men had found a decomposed body clothed only in tattered undergarments in a shallow grave not far from our pond. A single gunshot to the head had taken his life. Buried with him was a pair of shattered spectacles.
No one said a word until the sheriff left, then Mama grabbed Papa’s arm. “Could it be?”
“William Locke. I suspect so.” Papa glanced at me. “But in light of what’s happened, the less we say, the better.”
Later, Lucy and I talked about the strange discovery. “Why wouldn’t Papa say anything to the sheriff about it? Jesse wasn’t strong enough to lift a cup, let alone a gun, when he left.”
Her eyes clouded. “I know. But Frank was.”
My heart thudded and my stomach turned queasy.
On a cloudy spring day in 1867, two years after the war, Lucy married her soldier. Rain pattered down upon them as the couple scurried from our boarding house parlor to Boling’s carriage. He’d built a tidy, little home for them that stood near the store he operated in Kearney. I shared Lucy’s happiness, but harbored a deep sorrow for my own plight. She had been my closest confidante, and, since my sister Nancy and I were more distant with each other, I would no longer have anyone with whom I could freely discuss my fears and hopes.
No sooner had the happy couple departed for their honeymoon, than two of the guests fell into a heated discussion. One declared loyalty to the guerilla gangs, while the other thought hanging would be too good for them. It took all Papa’s considerable diplomatic skills to calm the men before the argument could erupt into a fight.