The Woman Who Loved Jesse James

by Cindi Myers

  “Mommy! Mommy!” Tim ran to me and clung to my skirts. In her high chair, Mary began to wail. “I want Daddy!” Tim sobbed. “Why isn’t Daddy here?”

  I tried to comfort him, even as the hair on the back of my neck rose with each bolt that crackled across the sky and each cannon shot of thunder. The rain sounded like bullets hitting the tin roof. Tim covered his ears with his hands, and Mary began to wail louder. I picked her up to comfort her, and heard another noise above the sound of the storm, the sound of wood striking wood.

  I peered out the window, narrowing my eyes to see through the curtain of rain. A flash of lightning illuminated a gaping black hole where the barn door should be. The door itself slammed back against the side of the barn with each gust of wind. If this kept up, it would be torn from its hinges. I thought of the horses—the most valuable property we owned. These weren’t the placid nags of the local farmers, but fine Kentucky bloodstock, high strung and inclined to spook at any sudden noise. They must be going wild in this storm.

  I returned Mary, who was still wailing, to her cradle. “Keep an eye on your sister,” I told Tim. “I’m going out to the barn.”

  “Mama, no! Don’t leave me.” He followed me into the mud room, where I shoved my feet into a pair of Jesse’s old boots and reached for his slicker that hung on a peg on the wall.

  “I have to see to the horses,” I said, tying a scarf tight beneath my chin. “You’ll be fine until I get back. Stay away from the stove. Talk to your sister.” Not giving my courage time to falter, I yanked open the back door and pushed into the teeth of a gale.

  Rain lashed at my face like icy needles. I sucked in my breath and ducked my head, my feet sinking in mud as I fought my way toward the barn. The wind buffeted me, tearing at my too-big coat. Rain cascaded down my back, soaking me to the skin. My boots filled with water and my hair fell down over my eyes in a damp tangle, obscuring my vision. I shoved it beneath the scarf as best I could and bent nearly double, keeping on a crooked course toward the barn.

  As I drew nearer the dark opening, I could hear the harsh thuds of the horses’ hooves striking against the sides of their stalls, and the high-pitched neighing that rose to a frantic pitch.

  I felt my way along the open door to the edge, and fought the wind to pull it closed. The constant beating back and forth had worn a rut in the dirt, which had turned to a mud dam. I kicked at this barrier, leveling it out so that I could drag the heavy wooden door over it. As I finally wrestled it closed, I heard the sound of shattering wood as one of the horses destroyed part of its stall.

  I latched the door and tied the latch in place, then with numb, fumbling fingers managed to light a lamp. The scene the light illuminated made my stomach plummet. The bay, Kentucky, had kicked out two slats of its stall and was working on a third. Skyrocket had stopped kicking, but stood in the middle of his stall, wild-eyed and trembling.

  I went to Skyrocket first, murmuring soothing nonsense. I found a blanket and threw it over his sweating back, then I leaned over the top of the stall and caught his bridle and fastened it to an iron ring in the barn wall. I thought this would hold him.

  Skyrocket secured, I turned my attention to Kentucky. His constant high-pitched cries sawed at my nerves even as his wild movements terrified me. I wished I’d thought to bring a gun from the house. At least then if the bay lunged for me in a fit of wildness I could shoot him.

  I’d hate to do it, though. He was a beautiful animal, and a valuable one, too. Jesse always said a good horse was better than money in the bank. He could always find a buyer for his horses when he tired of them and the best ones, like Skyrocket, were good money earners at the track. Kentucky had not been with us long enough to prove himself, but I knew Jesse had high hopes for him.

  “It’s all right, old boy,” I said, the way I had heard Jesse talk to the horses. “I’m right here to take care of you. You don’t have to worry about any—”

  Thunder shook the air, drowning out my words, and sending the horse into a renewed frenzy. He kicked at the partition once more, sending the last of the wood flying, then lunged from the stall.

  I dove out of the way, and cowered behind a feed barrel as the horse crashed around the small open area between the stalls. He pawed at the dirt, then struck at the door. But the wood there was stout oak, held with iron strap hinges. I felt confident it would hold. The question now was how could I keep Kentucky from hurting himself—or me?

  He lashed out at the barrel behind which I’d taken shelter, rocking it, nicking his foot on the iron banding. The sight of crimson blood blossoming against his dark red hair galvanized me to action. I couldn’t cower here all night; I had to act to save us both.

  When the horse turned away from me, I darted from behind the barrel and grabbed up a coil of rope. I wished I knew how to lasso an animal, the way I’d heard cowboys did. But I knew my chances of tossing a loop of rope around the whirling, bucking horse were slim to none. I’d have to take a more direct approach.

  “Kentucky, look at me!” I commanded, trying to make my voice deep and forceful.

  The horse whirled and faced me and I lunged for it, reaching for the bridle. I caught at the ring there and held on with both hands, my arms and shoulders straining to control the rearing animal, dodging the slashing hooves. Its screams echoed off the barn walls, and thunder reverberated around us, even as lightning showed through cracks in the siding.

  I dug my heels into the dirt, ignoring the pain in my hands and back. I reasoned as long as I held on, the horse would eventually tire. Harder to ignore was the terror that filled my stomach and clawed at my throat. I turned my face away from the animal’s slashing hooves and prayed he wouldn’t knock me down and trample me.

  “Mama! Mama!” My blood turned to ice as I heard the cries from the other side of the barn door.

  “Tim! Go back to the house!” I shouted.

  “Mama, I want to be with you.” The barn door rattled as Tim tugged at it. I had visions of him pulling it free, and the horse trampling him as it raced for freedom.

  “Tim, go back to the house! This instant!”

  “Mama, I’m scared!” he wailed. “I want Daddy!”

  I wanted Jesse too. I wanted him here, taking care of his horse, and taking care of me. I wanted to be inside my house, snuggled in blankets before a warm fire. I wanted to sip a cup of tea while he brushed out my hair.

  But all I had was a wild horse, a frightened child, and quickly failing strength. “Will you just calm down!” I shouted, addressing both Kentucky and Tim, and myself.

  To my amazement, the horse stilled. It stared at me with one terrified eye, its sides heaving, body shuddering. I put one hand to its neck, and smoothed the velvety coat, now slick with sweat. “It’s all right,” I soothed. “Everything is going to be all right.”

  I led the now docile animal back to the damaged stall, and tied its halter to an iron ring in the wall. Then I rubbed it down with clean straw and covered it with a blanket. Weary beyond measure, I picked up the lamp, and slipped back into the storm.

  Tim sat in a soggy heap in front of the door. I picked up him up and balanced him on one hip, then carried him and the lantern back to the house. Raindrops sizzled against the glass of the lamp chimney, but it didn’t shatter, and by its wavering light I was able to avoid the worst of the puddles and make my way onto the porch, where I doused the flame and went into the house.

  Mary had fallen asleep in her crib, and Tim was almost out in my arms, exhausted from his ordeal. I stripped off his wet clothes and mine, then dressed us both in flannel and carried him into bed with me. I was too jittery with adrenaline to sleep, but I welcomed the comfort of warm quilts. The worst of the storm had abated, the lightning and thunder passed, the rain a gentle wash against the windows. I lay back on the pillows, my sleeping son beside me, and thought, as I always did at this time of day, of Jesse. Where was he tonight? Was he warm and dry, in a house with friends or a hotel in some distant town? Or was he camped in t
he woods, soaked to the skin and missing home? In the time I’d known him, he’d certainly been in worse situations. He’d stared down death more times than I could count. He’d escaped so many times I’d grown to think of him as invincible. But on nights like this I was haunted by fear for him. Jesse James the outlaw was the stuff of legends, but Jesse James the man was after all a mortal. How much time did he have before his luck ran out?

  I did my best to hide my worries from the children. Though Tim asked every morning if Daddy was coming home today, Jesse had left often in Tim’s short life to attend horse races or visit friends, so this absence wasn’t particularly upsetting to the boy.

  A more pressing concern was my growing shortage of money. I was reluctant to ask Frank and Annie for help, though I know they would have offered. Instead, I accepted a neighbor’s offer to buy Kentucky. The cut on the horse’s leg had proved minor, and there was no other damage from those moments of terror in the barn. But the memory of how close I’d been to death beneath those slashing hooves left me with little love for the animal, and I was glad to get a good price for him.

  I delivered the rent to Mr. Twitchell’s office in person. He was clearly surprised to see me. “Mrs. Howard, I would have expected your husband to come to see me,” he said, the implication clear that Jesse should be ashamed of letting a woman take care of his responsibilities.

  “Mr. Howard had business out of town to see to,” I said. “May I have a receipt, please?”

  He wrote the receipt, and handed it to me, a sour expression on his face. “Tell your husband I won’t tolerate him being late again,” he said.

  “He won’t be.” I planned to put aside most of the money I’d received for Kentucky to safeguard against future such embarrassments. Jesse might balk at this, but I was determined to stand my ground. As Annie had pointed out, I had children to think of now, not just myself. Though I would never leave Jesse, I would do my best to see that my children never suffered for that decision.

  For the time being, we would be all right. Jesse would be home soon. For my own sake and the sake of my children, I couldn’t afford to consider any other possibilities.

  And then one day, Jesse was home. He came riding into the yard at sunset, on a chestnut mare I’d never seen before. He wore a fine new suit and his hair was freshly barbered. His smile made my heart leap in my chest. He reined in the horse, then swung down and swept little Mary into his arms, and gave Tim a big hug. Carrying Mary, Tim clinging to his side, he strode to me, eyes shining. “It’s good to see you, sweetheart,” he said, and gave me a long kiss that left me dizzy and grinning like a girl.

  “It’s good to see you,” I echoed, stroking his hair, touching his shoulder, my hands reluctant to leave him.

  Was this the same brooding, morose man who had left not a month ago? He looked five years younger, and more handsome than ever.

  “Where have you been, Daddy?” Tim asked.

  “Off getting presents for you.” He handed Mary to me and returned to the horse. From the saddle bags he took his gifts—a rag baby for Mary and a mouth harp for Tim, who immediately blew a loud blast on his new toy.

  Then Jesse turned to me. “And this is for you,” he said, handing me a knotted blue silk handkerchief.

  There was a hard lump in the middle of the handkerchief, and when I unknotted the ends, I saw a gold ring with a large diamond solitaire. “A ring as fine as the woman who wears it,” he said, slipping the jewel onto my finger.

  I held my hand out to admire it. The diamond sparkled in the fading sun. “It’s beautiful,” I said. I shifted my gaze from the ring to his blue eyes. “I’m so glad you’re home. I’ve missed you.”

  “I’ve missed you, too.” He slipped his arm around my shoulder and we started for the house, the children trailing after us.

  Hours later, after the new horse—whose name was Cassidy—was stabled, dinner eaten and the dishes washed, and the children snug in their beds, each clutching the new toy Jesse had brought them, he and I retired to our bedroom. I had informed him of the sale of Kentucky and how I’d used some of the money to pay the back rent. “I’m sorry you had to do that,” he said. “But I’m proud of you for handling things. I know I can always count on you.”

  His praise made me feel two inches taller, and more in love with him than ever.

  In the bedroom, I started to pull the pins from my hair, but he stopped me. “Let me do that.”

  I sat on the end of the bed while he knelt behind me and unplaited the strands. Then he pulled a brush through the locks in long, soothing strokes. The temptation to close my eyes and bury all my worries and fears beneath a blanket of peace and contentment was almost overwhelming. But I knew problems that were buried had a tendency to grow ten-fold, so I forced myself to sit up straight and address Jesse in a voice that was clear yet casual. “I saw the story in the papers about the train robbery at Glendale,” I said. “‘We are the boys who are hard to handle.’ What were you thinking?”

  He chuckled. “How did you like that? I thought it was a nice touch. Just when the railroads had begun to get lazy, Jesse James is back to make them toe the line.”

  “Who was with you? I didn’t recognize the names.”

  “Oh, just Clel Miller’s little brother, Ed; my cousin Wood and some men they knew. Young fellows mostly. They grew up hearing stories of the James gang.”

  I imagined a group of young men, in awe of their idol, the notorious Jesse James. Jesse would thrive in their midst, with no one to contradict him and—unfortunately—no one to rein him in.

  “Frank was talking the other day about the men you used to be friends with—your fellow bushwhackers,” I said. “He said they’re all dead or in jail now. Only the two of you are left.”

  He set the brush aside and sat facing me. “Buck needs to quit sitting at home, brooding, and come ride with me,” he said. “One holdup would set him right.” He reached up and unfastened the top button of my shirtwaist.

  “Annie says she’ll leave him if he goes back to being an outlaw,” I said.

  His hand stilled. “You wouldn’t leave me, would you?” he asked.

  The gruffness in his voice unnerved me. I covered his hand with mine. “No, Jesse. I could never leave you.” I might as well have tried to cut out my heart and leave it behind.

  He traced the curve of my jaw with the back of his hand. “My work takes me away sometimes, but I’ll never leave you or forsake you,” he said.

  I closed my eyes as his lips covered mine, and let this promise vanquish my worries. I had no control over what Jesse did for a living, no power to stop those who hunted him, no way to predict the future. The only guarantee I had was this moment, and I’d be foolish not to take what enjoyment I could from it.

  We made love with the urgency of any lovers long parted, yet for me, at least, every caress was tinged with melancholy. Jesse was energetic and eager, but I sensed desperation beneath his ardor, as if he too, was determined to grab hold of every sensation, while he still could.

  Whatever ill will had existed between Jesse and Frank when Jesse had left town vanished upon his return. He had been home only three days when Jesse decided we should leave our little house and move in with Annie and Frank. “I’m going to be traveling more and I don’t want you and the children to be alone,” he said.

  “Leave our home? Jesse, no!” We had lived here longer than any other place in our marriage. Our children had been born here. And two of them were buried here.

  The two little graves in the back yard drew my gaze. From the kitchen window I could just make out the wooden cross that Jesse had carved and set up as a marker. I’d taken comfort from the knowledge that Gould and Montgomery were out there close, not alone or abandoned to neglect.

  Jesse put his hand on my shoulder. “It will be all right, Zee,” he said. “We can come back to visit, and when things are more settled—when we have a place of our own—we’ll move them with us.”

  I bit my lip, holding back te
ars. I wanted to believe in a future in which we’d have a home of our own, and peace and safety at last, but I no longer trusted in such a fantasy. “I don’t want to go,” I whispered.

  “I know.” He bent and kissed the top of my head. “But it’s for the best. I won’t rest easy knowing you and the children are alone while I’m traveling.”

  I could have pointed out this hadn’t particularly bothered him before, but perhaps his renewed criminal activities had made things more dangerous for us all. I didn’t bother to ask where he was going, or to pretend I didn’t know what he planned to do. “Why are you doing this?” I asked. “Why are you putting yourself—and us—in danger like this?”

  “It’s only for a little while longer.” He dismissed my worries with a wave of his hand. “I just want to get a stake. Then we’ll buy a farm out west somewhere, and start over. I’ll raise racehorses and wheat.”

  The idea of Jesse as a contented wheat farmer on a western homestead seemed as impossible as my persuading him to give up the idea of any more robberies. He had started out holding up banks and railroads as an extension of his bushwhacking activities, a representative of those for whom the war hadn’t ended. But somewhere between revenge and riches, his motives had changed. Now Jesse craved the excitement and danger every bit as much as he enjoyed the rustle of cash in his wallet.

  We packed our belongings and moved to Frank and Annie’s farm the next week, thereby avoiding having to pay another month’s rent. I cried bitter tears as I looked back on Montgomery and Gould’s little grave, craning my neck until even the tree that sheltered them had disappeared from sight. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was losing them all over again, and that no matter what Jesse said, we would never be back.

  Either Frank had said something to Annie, or she had decided on her own to stop taking her worries over Frank’s future out on me. She went out of her way to be pleasant to me and the children, and even managed a smile or two for Jesse. I had yet to meet a woman who was immune to Jesse’s charms. The hardest female heart would melt in the heat of his brilliant blue eyes and roguish smile.