I am Mrs. Jesse James

by Pat Wahler

  Annie continued to bring Robert to me over the next many months. He grew rosy and plump, and each time I nursed him, I fancied my own babies were smiling from within Robert’s precious face.

  As I occupied myself with him, my body healed. Despite all that had happened, I couldn’t help but notice that the dreaded restlessness had returned to my husband. Frank and Annie had started to attend the Methodist church every Sunday and became friends with other parishioners, while Jessie brooded over a chasm growing wider between him and his brother.

  When Frank stopped by one evening and asked Jesse if he’d like to go sit on the front porch with the Eastmans, Jesse shook his head. “What pleasure do you get from talking about crops and spouting Shakespeare? I can’t think of anything more boring.”

  “I like talking with Charles. It makes me feel like I’m part of this town. Like I belong here.”

  “You know better than to get friendly with people who aren’t our kin. What if they discover who you are? No one can be trusted.”

  “Well, I say you’re wrong,” Frank glowered, shook his head, and walked out.

  Jesse went to the table and slammed his hand on it. The dishes rattled.

  “I’m going out to feed the horses,” he called over his shoulder.

  The lines around his mouth worried me. I knew Jesse still mourned for our babies. He’d told me he couldn’t get their faces from his mind. Even when he lifted Tim in front of him on the saddle and cantered his horse along the path near the house, I could see a shadow of grief following him.

  On a sunny afternoon, I hung clothes on the line. while Tim napped. When I dragged the empty basket to the house, I found Jesse on the porch. He handed me one hundred dollars. “For the rent and the doctor.”

  I stared at the money. “Where did this come from?” “I sold Red Fox.”

  My mouth gaped, and I dropped the bills. Jesse knelt to gather them before the breeze could.

  “But why? You loved that horse.”

  “We needed the money. You might as well hear it now. I’ll be leaving for a while, and I had to have some cash. I’ve got to get away from here. And”—he slapped at a persistent summer fly—“I’m asking Frank to go with me.”

  “He won’t go, Jesse. He’s happy here.”

  “He’s my brother. He’ll do it.”

  Tears filled my eyes at the look on his face when he walked away. Jesse left the next morning—alone.

  When Jesse returned, dark hair bristled over his lip and chin, but he wore his hat cocked to the side. His whiskers scratched my face when he kissed me and then he gave a bear-growling hug to Tim. He handed our son a peppermint stick and sent him off to play.

  We sat at the kitchen table, and Jesse took my hand. His fingers were ragged and rough, as though he’d been baling hay without wearing gloves.

  When he spoke, his blue eyes hardened. “I sent a letter asking John Edwards to meet with me. He didn’t even bother to answer it. Ever since publishing his book, he seems to have forgotten all about what I’m still trying to do for the South.”

  “Jesse, your brother is making a fine life here in Tennessee. Why can’t we do the same? Instead of fighting old battles, you could work the farm as he is and forget about the past.”

  “Forget it?” Jesse’s face reddened. “How can I ever forget the past? How can you forget it?”

  “I have to forget or I’ll go mad.” I squeezed his hand. “Remember, nothing from the past can break us as long as we’re together.”

  He leaned over and pressed his lips to mine. “At least you haven’t deserted me.” A half smile played at his lips. “I’m afraid I’ve become what I am, and there’s no going back now.” He sighed and rose from his chair. “Could you fix me something to eat while I take care of my horse?”

  Over the years, I’d seen Jesse filled with many emotions: playfulness, passion, even anger. But I’d never seen him quite so empty.

  I tucked Tim into bed and fixed Jesse a simple dinner of cold chicken, corn, and tomatoes. When he returned from the barn, listless and silent, I rubbed the tight knots in his back until he’d cleaned every morsel from his plate.

  “It’s too warm in here,” I said. “Let’s sit together on the porch.”

  He followed me outside, and we settled into the wooden rocking chairs. Evening had softened the day’s heat. Night creatures chirped, and an owl hooted from behind the barn. I rocked back and forth while the cool breeze fanned my face. Jesse sat still as a stone, his countenance naked with despair

  After a while, I stood and reached for his hand. “Dearest, come with me.” I knew he needed the comfort only a wife could give. I led him to our bed and blew out the lamp.

  When the first light of day peeped through the window, I got up to put the iron skillet on the fire. By the time ham sizzled and popped, Jesse appeared. He put his arms around me, and I noticed a glimmer of light had returned to his eyes.

  “You understand like no one else, Zee. I don’t know what I’d do without you. Thanks for giving me more than I deserve.” He kissed me and patted my back. “Buck’s out at the barn. I have a few things to talk over with him, but I’ll be back soon for some of that ham.”

  He went out the door whistling. If I squinted my eyes, he looked almost as young as he had on the day he asked me to marry him.

  I dressed Tim and cut up some ham and a biscuit for him to eat. Then I fixed a plate for Jesse and cleaned up the kitchen mess. Just as I wiped out the skillet, Jesse came through the door, rubbing the back of his neck.

  “I have the perfect opportunity to make some quick money, but Buck says he won’t go. He’s grown fat and lazy here in Nashville. The will to take a chance seems to have gone plum out of him. I talked until I ran out of things to say, but he won’t budge an inch. He likes things just the way they are.”

  I patted stray crumbs from Tim’s mouth. “Did that change your mind about leaving?”

  He looked at me and rolled his eyes. “When did I ever let any other man influence me? I’m master of my own fate. We need money, and if things go as well as I think, I can get enough to buy the land we want and build our own house. Doesn’t that sound good to you?”

  I wanted to tell him I’d rather rent a small place right in the middle of town than have him leave again. I wanted to tell him he’d been promising that we’d have the money for our own house for years. I wanted to … but I didn’t.

  Within days of our conversation, Jesse left. Frank watched him go, his shoulders hunched with Annie’s arm tucked around his. She looked up at him and smiled her gratitude. I rubbed an ache in my lower back and put Tim down for a nap.

  A few weeks later, I discovered I was once again with child.

  28

  Thankfully, Jesse wasn’t gone long. As the months passed and my belly swelled, Frank and Jesse decided to move us from Hyde’s Ferry Road to a small farm owned by an old bachelor, Felix Smith. Jesse wanted the continued assurance of a place for Tim and me near Frank’s family, while he made plans for what would come next.

  My first view of the whitewashed farmhouse made me smile. The two-story residence was even larger than the boarding house from my childhood. We took the second floor, while Frank and Annie lived on the main. Mr. Smith resided in a small addition on the side but would share meals with us as part of our board.

  “This is the most charming place I’ve ever seen,” I said.

  “I knew you’d like it. The house has plenty of room, and the land is good. I’ve decided to try my hand at something new because I want you to be happy, Zee,” he nuzzled his face against my cheek. “Frank says there’s potential to grow a good crop. With the baby coming, I’d like to stay closer to home.”

  I gulped, and my heart summersaulted. “Oh, Jesse. Nothing would make me happier. I know this is a different life, but I’m grateful you’re willing to try. I’ve always thought I’d make a good farmer’s wife.” I tweaked his ear. “Perhaps we can get a milk cow, too. How wonderful if we could provide for our
own needs and not be beholden to anyone else.”

  “Beholden to no one,” Jesse said with a kiss planted on the tip of my nose. “That sounds like a good life.”

  Jesse rose early each day and went to the field, tinkering with the plow and arguing with Frank over whether tobacco or hemp would bring more profit. Once they shook hands on planting both, Jesse harnessed the mule and coaxed neat seams into the ground. On Saturdays, he drove into town and talked with other farmers to hear their suggestions. When he came home, he had a bounce to his walk and I suspected he enjoyed the conversation far more than he did the long days of working under the sun.

  At the end of a day thick with heat and humidity, Jesse woke in the middle of the night with a pounding headache. His body burned, and so much sweat poured from him, I fetched a towel and sent for the doctor. When the doctor came, he studied Jesse’s symptoms and turned to me.

  “He’s got malaria.”

  My hand flew to my belly until the doctor assured me the sickness wasn’t contagious. He left a bottle of quinine and told me to keep Jesse in bed.

  I sponged his arms and legs to keep down the fever that reddened his skin. Jesse tossed and turned, but I didn’t stop until he grabbed my hand.

  “Here you are, stuck with taking care of me again. I’m sorry, Zee.”

  I dipped the cloth and ran it down his arm. “I don’t imagine you got sick on purpose. If you take your medicine and do what the doctor says, you’ll be up again soon.”

  “This won’t help us in growing our crops, will it?”

  “Don’t worry yourself. Frank hired some men to help. The crops will be planted on time,” I said.

  He fretted with the sheet that covered him. “You know money is scarce. One of the things about farming I hate most is that it takes spending a lot of cash and waiting months before there’s any return. And that’s if the weather’s mild, bugs and blight stay away, and the crop grows the way it should.”

  “Don’t worry about it, dearest. You must keep your mind easy and rest.”

  But several weeks passed before Jesse could leave his bed. Even then, his energy remained sapped, and along with it, his will for the hard work of farming. After investing what it took to plant our crop, we had almost nothing left, and the time for my confinement drew closer. The worry over how we’d pay the doctor’s bills kept both of us up at night.

  Jesse grew increasingly morose over his powerlessness and our empty pockets. He told me he planned to leave again.

  “But I need you here when the baby comes. I’m afraid what happened before might happen again.”

  His eyes shadowed before he pulled me to him. “I won’t be gone long. Frank and Annie will take care of you until I get back. I’ve an idea for something to bring in quick money.”

  I toyed with the collar of his shirt. “I pray each time you leave that nothing will happen to you, but I can’t help wondering. What if God is looking at the things that have happened and passing judgment on us?”

  His eyes widened. “I can understand why you might believe such a thing of me. I know what I’ve done. But why, pray tell, do you think God would sit in judgment of you? You’ve done nothing except defend your family. Could it be you’ve become unhappy married to a man who can’t do anything well except be an outlaw?” He swallowed, and his eyes did not meet mine.

  I cupped his face and turned it toward me. “Jesse, I’d never think such a thing. You’ve always been good to me and the best father to Tim. You’ve done everything you can for us. Yet I keep thinking of what happened to our babies.”

  Jesse wrapped his arms around me. “I tell you no just God would punish you in such a way. Do you think God was punishing Ma when the Pinkertons killed Archie? Do you think our babies were taken away because God wanted to teach me a lesson? I remind you of your own words to me not so many years ago. God doesn’t punish people for doing what they have to do.”

  A tear slipped down my cheek, and I rested my head against his chest. “When our babies died, Dr. Montgomery spoke of God’s will.” I gulped and went on. “Please rethink going away. At least consider a different life as your brother has done and pray over the right thing to do.”

  His arms dropped to his sides and he stepped back. “I haven’t been much on prayer for the past few years, and even if I was, I can’t think about that now.” He turned and walked toward the door. With his hand on the knob, he turned back. “Plans have already been laid, Zee. It’s too late to change them.”

  Now would be the time for me to insist. To demand he do what I asked of him. I took a deep breath to speak, when the baby in my womb kicked hard. My hand flew to my belly. We had no money. My confinement was near, and I dared not let emotion compromise my baby’s welfare. I had no choice but to wait.

  Over the next few weeks, Jesse rode away then returned many times. With each trip, he gained more of his old strength, sitting tall on his horse the way he used to. By early July, I had begun my confinement, and when Dr. Goodman, who attended me, said our baby appeared to be growing in a normal way, I breathed out a sigh of relief. My legs and feet weren’t swollen, and my belly didn’t grow as large. The doctor seemed satisfied there would be no complications.

  When Jesse returned that evening, I told him what the doctor said. He glanced at me then jerked his gaze away. I chose not to ask what he was thinking, fearful of inflaming emotions that could risk the health of my baby.

  But on July 17, 1879, Dr. Goodman delivered a plump and rosy girl. I wept at the sight of her, at hearing her loud cry, at running a finger over her ruddy pink skin. Jesse stood beside me as the doctor announced her arrival and handed her to me. This time, Jesse had remained in the room, sitting with fingers steepled and a grim look on his face during my labor. When he saw the baby at my breast, his features finally relaxed, and his eyes sparkled with unshed tears.

  Soon, Annie and Frank appeared with Tim and Robert to admire the new baby. Robert stared.

  Annie prodded my son. “Who is that, Tim?”

  “Sissy,” he responded.

  I smiled and nodded. “That’s right. She’s your baby sister.”

  “Now we need to let the new mama and baby rest.” Annie smoothed Tim’s errant cowlick. “Let’s go downstairs and I’ll fix dinner.”

  Tim happily scampered away with Annie and Frank, as Jesse stroked our daughter’s tiny hand.

  “I have an idea what to name her,” I said.

  “Well, I suppose it’s fair for a mother to name her daughter. What do you suggest?”

  “I thought we’d christen her Mary Susan, after my mother and your sister.”

  “Ah,” he said, letting the baby wrap her fingers around his pinkie, “I think that is perfect.”

  Jesse seemed easier now that his pockets were filled with money. He paid off the debt we owed at the mercantile, gave cash to the doctor, and paid Felix Smith for back rent.

  One week after Mary’s birth, Jesse presented me with a Smith and Wesson pocket pistol. It had a mother-of-pearl grip inscribed with my initials.

  “That’s for giving me a daughter almost as pretty as her mama.”

  “I’ve never seen anything like it. Thank you, Jesse.” “I know how you feel about my old pistol, but I thought you’d like this one. Of course, you won’t be able to shoot for a while, but when you’re up again, I’ll show you how to use it.”

  Later, I gave Annie some money to buy pretty little dresses and bonnets for Mary at the mercantile. Dressed in bows and frills, my daughter looked like the blue-eyed china doll I’d once seen in a store window. Showering her with the gifts our twins would never have eased my pain a little and helped fill the hole they left in my heart. It was a happy time, yet most of my smiles were due to Jesse staying close to home. Perhaps Mary’s birth had given him peace, too.

  One late afternoon, Mary nestled in my arms as I stroked her soft hair. Jesse walked into the kitchen. His eyes were downcast, and he stared at a paper in his hand.

  My heart jumped at the lo
ok on his face. “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s a telegram from home.” He lifted his chin to look at me and swallowed.

  I held my breath.

  “There’s no easy way to say it, Zee. It’s your sister. Lucy. She … a sudden fever settled on her, and she’s gone.”

  My eyes closed and another hole ripped open in my heart. “Oh, no.”

  “I’m afraid it’s true. Your brother Thomas sent the telegram. I can’t believe it either. Lucy was so good to us both.” He shook his head and knelt beside me. “It might not be a good idea for you to travel, but if you want to go home, I’ll find a way.”

  “You know I can’t leave with the baby so young.” I shook my head, and tears dropped on Mary’s head like soft rain. “What could I do for Lucy now anyway? I’ll write a letter to Boling and pray for her soul.”

  Later that night, in bed, Jesse held me until I fell asleep. I dreamed Lucy came to see me. We hugged, and she kissed my cheek before her spirit—for I know she’d come to comfort me—faded away. When my eyes opened, my cheeks were wet, but I knew she was at peace.

  And so was I.

  While I regained my strength, Jesse began to wander from home again.

  “I’m finished with the idea of farming,” he told me. “It’s not in my blood. I’m going back to take what we need from those who can spare it until we’ve got enough money to buy the ranch we want.”

  His words chilled me, and I noticed he didn’t mention Frank. Over the past months, they’d become more distant with each other. Frank avoided Jesse, and the only recent moment of levity they shared came on the day Annie found a newspaper story that declared the famous outlaw Jesse James had been shot dead. The brothers clapped each other on the back, succumbing to spasms of laughter. I couldn’t even smile over their amusement. The story made me shudder.