The Woman Who Loved Jesse James

by Cindi Myers

  “He seemed very upset,” I said. “He threatened ‘legal proceedings.’ Does that mean eviction?” I shuddered at the memory of other families I’d seen, with all their belongings piled at the curb, their shame made public.

  “I’ll take care of it,” Jesse said, his expression grim.

  I told myself I needn’t worry. Jesse had always provided for us before; he would do so now. But in the back of my mind, I made lists of everything I might sell to come up with the necessary funds.

  Jesse’s response was to pack a bag the next morning. “Where are you going?” I asked as I watched him add a clean shirt and vest to the carpetbag he used for traveling.

  “I thought I’d ride out to see my cousins, George and Wood Hite.” He added two pairs of socks to the bag. “They owe me a little money. I think it’s time I collected the debt.”

  I had never cared for the Hites: to me they were lazy, slovenly lay-abouts who took advantage of Jesse’s good will. Younger than Jesse, they looked up to him, and in flusher times he never hesitated to give them cash when they needed it. I doubted they’d have any now to give him in return, but if anyone could get the money out of them, it would be Jesse. Though I hated for him to leave me, I was relieved that Jesse was doing something that would get us out of trouble with Mr. Twitchell and allow us to stay in our house.

  Annie rode over the next morning, ostensibly to invite me and the children to stay with her and Frank while Jesse was away. I accepted her invitation, grateful for the company her family would provide mine, and also thinking this would make it more difficult for Mr. Twitchell to find me and harass me about the back rent.

  But I soon learned hospitality wasn’t the only reason for Annie’s visit.

  “Where has Jesse gone?” she asked as we sat on the back porch, sipping tea and watching the children play. The trees were just beginning to show gold and the air held the underlying chill of approaching winter.

  “He went to visit his cousins, the Hites,” I said.

  Annie frowned into her teacup. “I never cared for that bunch. The old man’s wife makes eyes at everything in trousers.”

  “It’s just gossip.” But I’d heard the rumors, too. Major Hite’s second wife was young enough to be his daughter, and pretty in the way an over-blown rose or over-ripe peach can be pretty.

  “I don’t really care about her, one way or another,” Annie said. “But before he left, Jesse stopped by the farm and he and Frank argued. Frank won’t tell me what the argument was about.”

  “Well I certainly can’t tell you.” Maybe Jesse had tried to borrow money from his brother. But that didn’t seem a likely source of an argument. I was sure Frank would have lent any money he had to help his brother.

  “I think they argued because Jesse wants Frank to rob another bank or railroad with him and Frank refused,” Annie said.

  “Why would you think that? Why would Jesse want to do that?” But I knew one reason. Had Jesse seen a return to his old ways as the solution to our money problems? Was the story about collecting a debt from his cousins merely a ruse to calm my fears?

  “Because Jesse isn’t satisfied unless his name is in the papers,” Annie said. “He’d grown used to being the center of attention and now that he isn’t anymore, he can’t stand it.”

  “That’s not true,” I protested. Jesse had as much vanity as the next man, but he was an adult with a family to look after—not the pouting child she apparently saw.

  “It is true, Zee and you know it.” Her voice became strident. “He went from being Zerelda’s spoiled little boy to Bloody Bill Anderson and Archie Clement’s protégée, to the most talked-about outlaw in the country. Never mind that Frank is the one who introduced him to Bloody Bill in the first place. That it was Frank who put up with Zerelda’s harangues while she doted on Jesse. Frank planned their first robberies. His strategy is what made them successful. And Frank’s the one who led them to safety after the disaster at Northfield.”

  I stared at her, amazed at this outpouring. Annie had never before given any indication she harbored all this ill-will toward my husband. I held up one hand to stop the flow of words. “Annie, are you saying you and Frank are jealous of Jesse? Because the reporters wrote about him more than they did Frank?”

  She sat back in her chair, visibly gathering herself. “I’m trying to tell you that Frank made Jesse what he is today,” she said calmly. “If he’s thinking of trying to rob railroads and banks and stagecoaches again, without Frank along, then he’ll never succeed. And if he thinks he can persuade Frank to join him again, I won’t let that happen.”

  “I don’t see how you’re going to stop him. Or Frank.” I was sure my brother-in-law loved his wife, but Frank had a mean temper when riled and I couldn’t imagine he’d allow anyone—much less a woman who’d promised to honor and obey—to tell him what to do. “Even if this is true—what do you expect me to do about it?”

  “You could look through Jesse’s things, for some clue as to what his plans are.”

  “I could never do that!”

  She gave me an appraising look. “You don’t really believe Jesse has never lied to you, do you?” she asked.

  “All I know is that I’ve never lied to him.” I stood and collected our teacups. Hers was only half-empty, but I was more than ready for this conversation to end. “Maybe it would be better if the children and I stayed here while Jesse’s away,” I said.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I already have the spare room ready for you. Frank will come by tonight with the wagon to fetch you.” She followed me to the sink and laid a hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry if I upset you, Zee,” she said. “But we aren’t naïve girls anymore. We have children to think about, as well as our own safety. Our men may be reckless, but we can’t afford to be. And we can’t afford to be ignorant of what they’re up to, no matter how much they try to keep us in the dark.”

  I nodded, though I wasn’t sure I entirely agreed with her. After my one and only interrogation by Pinkerton agents, Jesse had told me I was better off not knowing about his activities, and I had believed him. Ignorance freed me from worry and guilt and a host of other uncomfortable emotions.

  After Annie left, I put the children down for a nap and retreated to the bedroom Jesse and I shared, thinking I might lie down for a while myself. But Annie’s words had aroused my curiosity. The idea that Jesse’s belongings might provide a clue to his thoughts and intentions wouldn’t leave me.

  Curiosity won out over guilt and I got up off the bed and went to the tall wooden wardrobe that sat in the corner. Opening the doors, I stared at the neat rows of finely tailored suits and starched shirts. I felt in the pockets of the bearskin coat and probed the lining of the suit jackets, but they yielded nothing beyond a silver cigar cutter, twenty-three cents in change and a postage stamp.

  At the bottom of the wardrobe sat an old Army trunk. I knelt and dragged this out onto the floor. It was locked, but I knew where Jesse kept the key. I fetched it from the cracked shaving mug on top of the wardrobe and fit it to the lock.

  The heavy aroma of unsmoked cigars, horehound candy and old newspapers wafted up from the trunk like the mist of a genie rising from a lamp. I shuffled through the contents. Jesse had his own stash of newspaper clippings, most of them written by John Newman Edwards, praising Jesse as a hero of the South. I smiled, imagining Jesse pouring over these homages.

  Setting the papers aside, I explored further into the trunk. I pulled out a tiny brass replica of the Corliss Engine, which bore the legend, Souvenir of the Centennial Exhibition. Next was a gold pocket watch engraved with the name J. A. Burbank.

  The next item of interest was a small cardboard folder. Opening it, I stared at a photograph of our twin sons, Gould and Montgomery. Side by side in a single cradle, dressed in white gowns, they appeared to be peacefully sleeping. But I knew when this photo was taken they were already dead.

  My throat tightened and I swallowed hard against the knot of tears, as much for the
dear departed infants themselves as for Jesse, who must have stared at this picture for a long time, wrestling with his private grief, before hiding it away among his other treasures.

  At the very bottom of the trunk, tied up in ribbon, was a thick packet of letters—all the correspondence I’d sent to him during our long courtship. I raised the packet to my nose and sniffed the faint reminder of the rosewater I’d sprinkled on the pages—my girlish idea of the appropriate gesture for a love letter.

  The knowledge that Jesse had kept these letters touched me, and brought a renewed rush of guilt over snooping into his private possessions this way. I shut the trunk and returned it to the back of the wardrobe.

  My detective work had yielded little of interest, but this was reassuring. Instead of hidden jewels or bundles of cash, I’d discovered Jesse’s true treasures. Instead of secret maps or outlines of nefarious plots, I’d found pictures of his children and love letters from his wife. Jesse knew what was important in his world. I would hold on to that knowledge, and keep the faith that he would do what was right for me and for our children.

  Not long after the children and I moved in with Frank and Annie, I came down to breakfast one morning to find everyone in an uproar. “I knew your husband was up to no good and now he’s proved it,” Annie said as I passed her on my way to the breakfast table.

  “I’ve met some fools in my time, but I believe none of them is a bigger damn fool than my brother,” Frank said as I took my seat across from him. He handed me a copy of that morning’s paper.

  I stared at the headline “Train Robbery at Glendale by the Notorious Jesse James.”

  My heart felt made of lead. I stared at Frank. “Maybe they made some mistake?”

  “Keep reading.” He nodded to the paper. “There isn’t much doubt it was Jesse.”

  The hold-up had all the earmarks of a Jesse James raid—signaling the train to stop, the robbers boarding the train and escorting the engineer and fireman away from the engine at gunpoint, then proceeding straight to the express car. The courtesy and bravado of the leader, described as ‘handsome and without fear.’ The departure of the robbers in a hail of gunfire, riding into the distance on “swift, handsome thoroughbreds.”

  Even this might not have convinced me, but Jesse had left no room for anyone to doubt that he was responsible for this crime. He’d left behind a press release identifying himself and the members of his gang—the James brothers, Jim Connors, Underwood, Jackson, Flinn and Jack Bishop.

  “Who are these men—Jim Connors, Underwood, Jackson, Flinn and Jack Bishop?” I asked. “I don’t recognize any of them.”

  “Aliases, I imagine,” Frank said. “Damn fool.”

  Annie returned to the table and set a tureen of oatmeal down hard between us. “Why did he have to drag you into it?” She directed the question to Frank. “Now the police will think both the James brothers were involved, when you were here all the time.”

  “I imagine he wrote the note before he left here,” Frank said. “When he thought he could talk me into going with him.”

  “So Jesse did try to convince you to join him,” I said. “That’s what you argued about.”

  Frank lifted the lid of the tureen and stared morosely at the glutinous gray contents. “I should have gone. Maybe I could have talked him out of taking such a crazy risk.”

  “You should have done no such thing,” Annie said. “If he wants to get killed, he can leave you out of it.”

  I finished reading the newspaper account of the robbery while the two of them bickered. I began to feel better as I read. “It says here all the bandits got away. And no one on the train was killed.”

  “No one was killed this time,” Annie said.

  “Jesse’s not stupid,” Frank said. “But he thinks he’s invincible.” He spooned oatmeal into his bowl. “He’s stirred up a hornet’s nest with this robbery. The railroads have gotten complacent, thinking their troubles were over, that the James Gang was done for after that fiasco in Northfield. Now this has happened and I can guarantee they’ll be out for blood.”

  I felt cold all over. For so long, we’d lived with the threat of discovery, but in the last few years that threat seemed to have waned. As Mr. and Mrs. Howard, we had a comfortable life. We were part of our community. We had friends and participated in our church—was having a few extra dollars in Jesse’s pocket worth throwing all that away?

  “I think I’ll check on the children,” I said, and excused myself from the table.

  Tim was playing with Mary and Rob in the backyard, drawing the outline of a town in the dirt and parading little wooden soldiers and stick men through it while the babies clapped their hands and laughed at the entertainment. He glanced up as I approached. He had his father’s clear blue eyes and upturned nose, and an innocence that made my breath catch in my throat.

  “Is everything okay, Mama?” he asked.

  “Yes, I’m fine.”

  “You look worried.”

  For his sake, I pasted on what I hoped was a comforting smile. “I was thinking we might go back to our house this afternoon,” I said.

  His eyes lit up. “Is Daddy coming home?”

  “Soon, I hope,” I said. I squatted beside him and watched as he galloped a wooden horse through the dirt streets of his town. “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “I’m riding my race horse,” he said. “Away from the bad men.”

  I put one hand over my eyes to hide the tears that overflowed. Was Jesse even now riding his racehorse away from bad men as I waited here, unable to do anything to help him?

  The next afternoon I packed our things and Frank agreed to take us back to our little rented house. Since we’d heard the news of the Glendale train robbery, things had been tense between Annie and me, and I think Frank was grateful for a reprieve. “Annie will calm down in a few days and feel bad about some of the things she said,” he told me as he carried my trunk into the house.

  I nodded. “You and Annie have always been good friends to me,” I said. “But it’s only natural now that she’s worried about her own family more than mine.”

  “You need anything, you send for me,” he said. “And if you hear from Jesse, you let me know.”

  “I will. And I know you’ll do the same.” He nodded and started to leave, but I put a hand on his arm to stop him. “What did Jesse say to you when he came by your place before he left town?” I asked.

  He shoved both hands into his back pockets. “He wanted me to go back to Missouri with him, to get up a gang and do another bank job, or clear out the express car of a train.”

  So Annie had guessed correctly. “What did you tell him?” I asked.

  “I told him no. That things are too hot for us to risk getting caught.”

  “Because you and Jesse are too well known?”

  “Because times are changing. When we first started out, nobody expected to be robbed. Half the time the guards didn’t even have guns. You told somebody to open a safe and they did it. Now everybody’s armed and everybody wants to be a hero.” He spat in the dirt. “There’s telephones to send word around the country faster than a horse can ride. Even the contents of the safes are different—it’s all checks and bonds instead of greenbacks and bullion.” His eyes took on a haunted look. “And most of the men we rode with—the bushwhackers who knew how to ride and shoot and find their way around rough country, men with grit and sense—they’re all dead or in jail. Jesse and I are about all that’s left.”

  I couldn’t bear to look at him any longer, at his homely, sad face and world-weary eyes. There was no sign of the wild rebel in him now. I looked past him, toward the corral where Jesse’s beloved Skyrocket and another horse, a bay named Kentucky, loafed. “I don’t think Jesse can accept that the glory days are over,” I said. “He wants things to be the way they were—all the excitement and the fame. And maybe the danger, too. I think . . . I think ordinary life is too tame for him. That he doesn’t feel as alive if he’s not risking som
ething, whether it’s money at the race track or his life robbing a train.”

  “I am one, my liege, whom the vile blows and buffets of the world hath so incensed that I am reckless what I do to spite the world.”

  At my blank look, Frank smiled faintly. “Shakespeare, from Macbeth. Annie and I have been reading it in the evenings.”

  “So you think Jesse is spiting the world?”

  “Maybe.” He patted my shoulder. “Take care of yourself and the children, Zee. As for Jesse—maybe all any of us can do is pray for him. The rest is up to God and the government.”

  I didn’t hear from Jesse for that week, or the next. I told myself he was laying low, avoiding the lawmen who were crawling the country, searching for him. We had experienced these separations before and Jesse always came home to me.

  But doubt nibbled at me like ants. What if this time was different? What if Jesse, having tried the role of stable family man and found it wanting, had chosen the carefree life of the rebel instead?

  Chapter Fifteen

  Every day, I waited for Mr. Twitchell to knock on the door and demand his money, but thankfully, he stayed away. Perhaps other business had taken precedence, or he had learned Jesse was out of town and decided to put off bothering a woman and children alone. Whatever the reason, I was grateful for his neglect, and prayed Jesse would soon be home safely—and with the money we needed.

  The weather that October was cool and dry. One morning when I went to visit the outhouse, frost sparkled on the grass. Winter would be here before we knew it.

  But weather, like life itself, can take a sudden turn for the worse. One evening about suppertime, the air felt heavy and still. My head throbbed and the children whined and refused to eat the supper of corn chowder I’d prepared. Clouds obscured the setting sun and the sky turned the ugly purplish-yellow of a bruise.

  I was standing at the sink, washing dishes, when suddenly a great crack of lightning rent the sky, surprising a cry from me. The bowl I was scouring slipped from my hand and rain began to fall in a gray curtain.