by Cindi Myers
“You deserve a better life,” she said. “A man with a steady job who’ll provide you with a good home.”
“I love Jesse,” I said again, as if that explained everything. But for me, it did. I had waited years to find a man who would stir me the way Jesse did. I knew everyone around us expected my devotion to him would fade, but the months apart only strengthened my feelings. With Jesse, I was more alive than I had ever been. Who would willingly give that up?
“Love isn’t enough to make a good marriage,” Esme said. “In fact, it isn’t even necessary. Respect and a shared outlook and goals are much more important.”
Esme had not loved Mr. Colquit when they wed; she had made it clear she favored his suit because he was a good provider and could give her what she wanted—a house of her own and children. I had to admit she seemed happy in her marriage, and evidence of her compatibility with her husband was swelling in her womb. Was she so content now because she had grown to love Mr. Colquit—or because she had decided she did not need love?
But I did need love—and Jesse was the man to whom I’d given my heart. I believed he needed me as much as I needed him. His words said he loved me, but his actions made me doubt. If he truly loved me, wouldn’t he want to be with me regardless of the risk?
My father died in April, 1869, aged sixty-four, leaving my mother to manage family affairs with the help of my oldest brother, Robert. The summer of 1869 I turned twenty-four. Though my mother declared me a great help to her in running the household, only Sallie, Henry and I were still left at home, and Sallie was engaged to be married the following spring. I was acutely aware that I was another mouth to feed and another body to clothe in a household that was now without my father’s income. The girls I had grown up with were almost all married, managing households of their own, while I continued to wait.
Jesse sent me a birthday present of a fine carved cameo set in a gold frame, but I didn’t see him again until early December.
On a pitch-black night I was pulled from sleep to instant wakefulness by the knowledge that something was out of place. I lay scarcely breathing, senses straining. Then I heard the rattle of gravel against my bedroom window. Careful not to disturb Sallie, I slipped from beneath the covers and crept to the window. As I watched, a shadow separated itself from other shadows, taking the shape of a broad-shouldered man in a long riding coat.
My heart beat faster and I shoved up the sash and leaned out. “Zee!” The voice was soft. Deep, and there was no mistaking its owner.
“Jesse!”
“Come down to the barn.”
Without waiting for an answer, he turned and strode away. I closed the window and flew from the room. Out the door and across the ground I ran, frost stinging my bare feet and ankles, an icy wind whipping my gown, but I scarcely noticed.
The barn was warm with the scent of horses and sweet hay. Jesse had lit a lantern and hung it from a beam in the center of the room. He stood in the halo of the light, his coat and hat discarded. He wore a pair of striped trousers tucked into tall boots, and a dark shirt with deep breast pockets—a guerrilla shirt, we called them, the pockets designed to hold shot and cartridges within easy reach. His hair was shorter than when I’d seen him last, and he’d grown a neat beard, which made him look older and a little forbidding.
“It’s good to see you, Zee,” he said. His voice rumbled through me, making me tremble. “What are you doing running out without even a shawl? You’re shaking like leaf.” He held out his arms. “Come here and let me warm you.”
I have no memory of going to him, but I was suddenly in his embrace. “I’ve missed you, Zee,” he said, his nose buried in my hair. “I hope you’ve missed me.”
I wanted to berate him for staying away so long, to chastise him for all the worry I’d endured. But when I opened my mouth to speak, all that came out was, “Oh, Jesse.”
His kiss silenced anything else I might have said. It was an urgent, seeking kiss that said more than any words could how hungry he was for me.
One look from him stripped away all caution and any check on my impulses. I threw my arms around him and pulled his head down to mine, opening my mouth to him and reveling in the feel of my breasts pressed against the unyielding wall of his chest.
He took me standing, my back pressed against the rough boards of a stall, his gun belt still slung about his hips. It was a wild, frantic coupling, energetic and exhilarating. He sank into me with a fierceness that stole my breath, thrusting hard, driving me back against the wood. But for all his force, he touched me with skill, his hands and mouth knowing just how to bring me the most pleasure. I bit his shoulder to keep from crying out as my climax shook me, and this seemed to fuel his passion. He groaned out his own release, and crushed me to him, his face buried in my hair once more.
It was a long while before our breathing returned to normal. When he finally withdrew, he kept a steadying hold on me. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he asked, studying my face.
I shook my head. “Why did you stay away so long?” I asked.
He released me and stepped back, buttoning up his pants and straightening his gun belt. Then he took a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to me. “You might want this to, um, freshen up.”
I laughed out loud. After what had just passed between us, such delicacy seemed out of place. But I turned my back to him to clean myself. “Where have you been?” I asked when I was finished, facing him once more.
“I wanted to see you, Zee,” he said. “But it hasn’t been safe. There are men watching my every move.”
“What men?”
“Lawmen. Bank officials. Militiamen who think every former bushwhacker is up to no good.”
“Has it really been that bad?” I asked.
“It has, Zee. That’s why I’ve stayed away. I didn’t want anybody following me here. I didn’t want to put you and your family in danger.”
“No one followed you tonight?”
“No. I’m certain of it.” He walked over to a stall and for the first time I became aware of the horse there—a beautiful bay mare wearing a gleaming saddle. Jesse collected fine horses the way some men collect wine. At Jesse’s approach the mare looked over her shoulder and blew out a breath. He ran a gentling hand along her flank, which rippled at his touch. “I brought you something,” he said, and opened the saddlebag.
He handed me something bundled in a gray bandana. I unfolded the cloth to reveal a gold and ruby broach, and a necklace with diamonds and pearls. They glinted in the lamplight, impossibly beautiful. “Jesse!” I gasped. “Where did you get these?”
“It doesn’t matter. You keep them. You can wear them at our wedding.”
The mention of a wedding brought sudden tears of happiness to my eyes. “When can we get married?” I asked.
“As soon as things calm down a little. The government will have better things to do before long than harass a bunch of bushwhackers.”
I ran my fingers across the jewels. Never had I imagined owning anything so fine. “Thank you,” I said. “They’re beautiful.”
“Put them some place safe and don’t tell anybody where you got them,” he said.
I didn’t question the need for secrecy. Already I’d accepted that part of being with Jesse was learning to keep confidences. Neither did I ask him where he’d been or what he’d been doing. I told myself his activities when we were apart didn’t concern me. Maybe I was afraid to know anything that might tarnish the image I’d built of him as the daring war hero, the reckless champion of the South, and the fearless young Rebel.
He led the mare from the stall and to my dismay, I realized he was preparing to leave. “You can’t go!” I protested. “You just got here.”
“I can’t stay.” He shoved against the horse’s side and tightened the saddle girth.
“Then let me come with you.” It was an absurd suggestion; I knew it as soon as the words escaped my mouth. But thankfully, Jesse didn’t ridicule me. “I wish you could come
with me,” he said. “But not yet.” He motioned me to him. “Come give me one more kiss, then you’ll need to douse the lamp.”
The kiss was all too brief, then he swung up into the saddle. I did as he asked and blew out the lamp, then felt my way to the barn doors and swung one side open.
I felt more than saw him ride past me, a large shadow dissolving into darker shadows as he moved out of the yard and into the surrounding woods. I stood there a long time, eyes straining into the darkness, ears alert to the last rustle of a shod hoof in dry leaves or the scrape of a branch against a canvas coat. Only when all was silence did I realize I was shivering with cold.
I might have believed I dreamt the entire encounter, if not for the sticky dampness between my legs, and the square of white linen in my hands. In my room I unfolded the handkerchief and studied it, my eyes fixing on the neatly embroidered letters in one corner: JWJ. Jesse Woodson James. A name the whole world would know before long.
It seemed I had hardly laid my head upon the pillow that night before my mother was shaking me awake. “Sister, you and Sallie need to dress and come downstairs right away.”
“Why? What time is it?” Sallie rubbed at her eyes and tried to burrow back underneath the covers.
My mother showed no mercy. She jerked the blankets from the bed. “There are two sheriff’s deputies downstairs. They say if we don’t answer their questions, they’ll have us all arrested.”
This news shocked me to instant wakefulness. “What do they want to question us about? We haven’t done anything wrong.”
Mother was pale. “They’re looking for Jesse and Frank, and they seem to think we know something.” She gave me a hard look, but I glanced away, willing myself not to react, though I felt as if a vise had tightened around my chest, cutting off my breath.
“Hurry and get dressed,” Mother said. “They say they’ll come up and drag you out of bed if you don’t, and I wouldn’t put it past them.”
She left and Sallie and I hastily pulled on petticoats and dresses and pinned up our braids. I studied my reflection in the dressing table mirror. My face was pale as milk, and bluish half circles shadowed my eyes. I thought I looked as sick and scared as I felt, but prayed the sheriff’s deputies would accept this as the normal reaction of any properly bred young lady suddenly accosted by gunmen.
We found the entire household gathered in the kitchen, watched over by two men. I’d expected a pair of burly gunslingers strung about with cartridge belts. Instead, these were two very ordinary looking men dressed in black business suits and modest bowler hats. They might have been a pair of bankers, if not for the gun belts that showed in their open jackets.
“If you young ladies will have a seat at the table with the rest of your family, we have some questions to ask you,” the older of the two men, who sported a walrus mustache and long sideburns, said.
I sat next to my mother, across from my eldest brother, Robert. His hair was uncombed and he needed a shave. I thought he looked particularly forbidding as he scowled at the two strangers, but they ignored him.
“Two days ago, a bank was robbed in Gallatin,” the man with the walrus mustache continued. “Two men, whom we have reason to believe were Alexander Franklin and Jesse Woodson James, held up the Davies County Savings Association. They murdered a man in cold blood before riding away.”
An icy chill swept over me at his words. Murder. Jesse is not a murderer! I wanted to protest, but I managed to keep silent.
“What makes you think these men are Frank and Jesse?” Robert demanded.
“People in town who know the James brothers identified them as the robbers,” Walrus Mustache said. “And one of them was forced to abandon his horse—a fine bay mare widely known to have belonged to Jesse James. That same night, another mare disappeared from a barn near Gallatin. We suspect Jesse took it to replace the mount he’d lost.”
My heart lurched, but I somehow managed to swallow my gasp. I sat on my hands, and forced myself to keep quiet.
“Any fool can steal a horse,” Robert said.
“As you say.” The younger deputy spoke at last, a severe, dark man with sallow skin and sunken eyes. “We tracked that horse into your barn.”
Robert laughed at this. “There are no strange horses in my barn,” he said. “But you’re welcome to take a look.”
“We already checked.” The older detective resumed the conversation. “We believe the horse was there—along with the man who stole it, and that he left very early this morning.”
“We’ve had no visitors for several days,” my mother said, truly perplexed. “We haven’t seen Jesse in almost a year, and Frank in more than two years.”
“We understand Jesse writes regularly to your daughter.” Walrus Mustache fixed a baleful eye on me.
“Jesse writes to lots of people,” I said, meeting his gaze with a cold look of my own, though beneath the table I clasped my hands tightly together to keep them from trembling.
“People in town say you and Jesse are engaged to be married.” The younger deputy pushed himself away from the wall and came to stand beside his partner. Though they were on the far side of the table, it felt as if they loomed over me. It took all the strength I could muster to keep from shrinking away from them.
“Jesse and I have an understanding,” I said.
“So it wouldn’t be unreasonable to think he came to see you last night, to say hello, and perhaps to give you some money or other things to hide for him.”
I thought of the jewelry Jesse had pressed into my hand. But he hadn’t asked me to hide it; it had been a gift. “I haven’t seen him,” I lied.
The younger man scowled, though the older one’s expression remained bland. “I imagine for a young girl such as yourself, a man like Jesse seems a romantic figure,” he said. “Handsome, well-spoken, inclined to dramatic gestures. If he rode into the yard after midnight, dressed in a dashing suit, astride a fine horse, it would be only natural if your head was turned, and your judgment swayed temporarily.” He planted both hands on the table and leaned toward me. “But now, in the light of day, now that you’ve had time to think, you can see such midnight assignations are the practice of a man with things to hide. A man who is guilty of a crime. Asking you to keep his secrets implicates you in the crime as well.”
“What are you saying?” my mother asked. “She already told you she doesn’t know anything. My daughter does not lie.”
“I think your daughter does,” the younger deputy said. “I think she knows quite a bit about Jesse James, and if she’s smart, she’ll share that knowledge with us.”
“I don’t have anything to tell you,” I said, and pressed my lips tightly shut. I knew nothing about Jesse’s activities before last night. I didn’t know whether he was guilty of the things these men accused him of or not. But I knew that admitting he’d been to see me, no matter how innocent his reasons for doing so, would put him and the rest of my family in danger.
“If you don’t tell us, and we find out for sure he was here, things will go badly for you,” the younger man said. “You could be jailed as an accessory to his crimes.”
Walrus Mustache studied me for a long moment, his expression almost kindly. “You appear to me to be a well-bred, genteel young lady,” he said.
I sat up straighter, as if to confirm just how well-bred and ladylike I could be.
“If you were my daughter, I would hate to see you involved with a ruffian like Jesse James,” he continued. “Maybe he’s persuaded you he’s a Rebel fighting for a cause. A good guy doing noble deeds. But you need to realize he’s none of that. He’s a common thief, and a murderer. In broad daylight, he put a gun to the head of an innocent, unarmed man—a respectable father with a wife and children—and pulled the trigger. Then he rode away, leaving the man to bleed to death.”
Beside me, my mother gasped, and Sallie began to softly cry. I felt sick to my stomach, and chilled to the marrow. The image he painted was horrible, but his words were mere w
ords to me. I couldn’t imagine Jesse—gentle, jovial, loving Jesse—committing such horrific violence. Some part of me accepted he had killed men in the war; killing was a part of war. But I imagined the men he had killed had been faceless enemies who were trying to kill him as well. Only a monster would do what the detective had described, and I knew Jesse was no monster.
“You can say anything you like,” I said. “But it won’t change how I feel about Jesse. You’ve made up your mind as to his character, but I’ve known him practically all my life. I know the real Jesse, and he wouldn’t do the things you’ve described.”
The two lawmen exchange glances. “Maybe we should arrest her,” the younger one said.
Robert rose. “That’s enough,” he said. “You won’t arrest anyone without proof and a warrant. Some horse tracks that you say lead to my barn aren’t proof of anything. The fact that my sister and Jesse James have exchanged a few letters isn’t proof of anything either. You’re grasping at straws, trying to build a case out of nothing, and I think it’s time for you to leave.”
The younger man opened his mouth as if to argue, but the older one nodded and replaced his hat on his head. “All right,” he said. “We’ll leave. For now.” He glanced at me. “You think about what I said, young lady. The people we love are seldom as good and perfect as we’d like them to be. I think Jesse James has misled you badly as to his character and I’d hate to see you hurt because of it.”
When the deputies were gone, everyone turned to look at me. “You want to tell us what that was all about?” Robert asked.
“How should I know?” I got up and filled the kettle and set it on the stove.
“They said they tracked that horse here,” Robert said. “Did Jesse come by here last night after we all went to bed?”
“No!” I kept my back to them, afraid they’d read the truth in my eyes.
“If they’d had any real proof, they would have produced it,” Thomas said. “They’re probably going around to all Jesse and Frank’s friends and relatives and fishing for anything that might implicate them in a crime.”