“Oh, absolutely. I’m sure Jesse got over it. And I can understand why you don’t like to talk about it.”
“No, sir, I don’t like to talk about it all that much. Truth to tell, I hardly never mention it at all that I was purt’ nigh Jesse’s right-hand man.”
“I thought his brother, Frank, was his right-hand man,” Jesse said.
“No, sir. Now, that’s another thing there don’t most folks know. But the truth is that Frank, well, he was sort of a weak sister. I mean, he warn’t nothin’ without Jesse. You can see that, by what he done after Jesse got hisself kilt. Nothin’ that’s what he’s done.”
“Being as you were such a friend of Jesse James, I guess you took it really hard when he was killed.”
“Yes, sir, I did indeed. ’N that’s another thing. I wish now that I had told him not to trust that Bob Ford fella. I had a feelin’ about him. He never did seem quite right by me. You know how it is when you have these feelin’s about people? Like sometimes you can just know when a fella ain’t tellin’ you the truth.”
Jesse chuckled. “Yes, I know.” Finishing their soft drinks, Jesse and Billy put the empty bottles in one of the boxes.
“Enjoy your stay in our little town,” the grocer called to them.
Two more blocks down the road, Jesse pointed to a weathered, two-story building. A sign in front identified it as the Morning Star Hotel.
“Let’s check in there.”
“All right,” Billy agreed. “Pa, do you think that man really knew Jesse James?”
“I don’t know whether he did or not. Remember, he said he doesn’t like to talk about it.”
Billy laughed. “Yeah, he doesn’t like to talk about it. Wonder where I should leave the auto?”
“We’ll ask the clerk when we check in.”
“You can just leave it alongside the hotel,” the desk clerk said, responding to the query a few minutes later when they checked in. “From time to time we get folks here with autos, so we’ve marked off a place alongside the building. It’s best to keep the autos and the horses separate, ’cause the horses sometimes get spooked.”
“Thanks.”
“Come walk down to the cemetery with me,” Jesse said after they checked into their room.
“Are we goin’ to see Jesse James’s grave?”
“I thought we might.”
“Why?”
“Why not? The folks here seem real proud of the fact that he’s buried here. Wouldn’t you like to see the grave?”
“I reckon so,” Billy replied.
“Let’s stop in here for a minute, shall we?” He pointed toward a florist shop.
“A flower store? You want to stop in a flower store?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to,” Jesse said without any further explanation.
A heavyset, gray-haired woman greeted them when they stepped inside.
“Yes, sir, what can I do for you gentlemen?”
“Do you have any roses?”
“Yes, sir, we certainly do. I do believe that our red roses are more beautiful this year than they have ever been before.”
Jesse shook his head. “I don’t want red roses, I want yellow.”
“Yellow?”
“Yes, do you have any yellow roses?”
“I have a few. But I don’t know that I could even make up a dozen for you. We don’t get many calls for yellow roses. And besides, they aren’t nearly as pretty as the red roses. Are you sure you don’t want red?”
“No, ma’am. It has to be yellow. And don’t worry about how many you have. I only need one.”
The woman chuckled and shook her head. “All right if one is all you want.” She went into the back, then returned a moment later clutching one yellow rose.
“I found you the prettiest one I could,” she said. “That’ll cost you a nickel.”
“Here’s a dime, for being nice enough to find the best one,” Jesse said.
A broad smile spread across her face. “Well, I thank you, sir. And I do hope she appreciates the yellow rose.”
“I’m sure she will,” Jesse said.
“She?” Billy said after they left the flower shop. “Pa, do you know some woman in this town?”
“No.”
“Then why did you say ‘she’ would appreciate it?”
“Boy, you ask too many questions.”
When they reached the cemetery, they looked around for a moment until they found what Jesse was looking for. There was one obelisk, then a flat stone. The obelisk read:
JESSE W JAMES
Taylor’s SQ
Todd’s CO
Quantrill’s
Regt
CSA
The flat stone on the ground read:
Jesse W. Zerelda
Born Born
Sep 5 1847 July 21 1845
Assassinated Died
April 3 18824 Nov 13 1900
“Pa, look, here’s Jesse James’s grave,” Billy said. “And this must be his wife. Oh, she was older than he was.”
“I don’t think that made any difference to them,” Jesse said. He stood there looking down at Zee’s grave. He was quiet for a long moment, then he bent down and lay the yellow rose on her side of the slab. “I’m sorry, Zee,” he said. “I’m really sorry.” He spoke the words so quietly that Billy couldn’t understand him.
“What did you say?” Billy asked.
“Nothing,” Jesse said. “I didn’t say anything.”
“I thought I heard you say something.”
“I was just mumbling, that’s all.”
“Pa, why did you put that rose on her grave?”
“Well, now, it would have looked really ridiculous for me to put this rose on his grave now, wouldn’t it?”
Billy laughed. “Yeah, I reckon so.”
They stayed there for some time with Jesse standing over Zee’s grave just looking down at it.
“Pa, how long are we goin’ to stay here?” Billy asked.
“I’m about ready to go back to the hotel,” Jesse said.
“I don’t mean to rush you none,” Billy said. “We can stay here as long as you want. I was just wonderin’, is all.”
Jesse smiled at Billy. “Well, you don’t have to wonder anymore,” he said. “Let’s go back.”
They walked without speaking for a few blocks until, finally, Billy broke the silence.
“Pa, can I ask you a question?”
“Go ahead.”
“What was all that about? I mean, why did you stand there over those graves for as long as you did? And why did you put a yellow rose on Jesse James’s wife’s grave?”
“I just thought it would be a nice thing to do,” Jesse said.
“Well, if you ask me, it’s mighty peculiar.”
Jesse laughed. “What do you mean, if I ask you? You are the one asking all the questions.”
“I’m just curious, that’s all.”
“Boy, haven’t you ever heard the saying that curiosity killed the cat?”
“Yeah, I’ve heard it. It never made much sense to me, but I’ve heard it.”
“Here’s the hotel,” Jesse said, pointing out the obvious to change the conversation.
“Gentlemen,” the desk clerk called to them as they walked through the lobby. “Here is a copy of the Kansas City Star. It is a courtesy that we provide our guests.”
“Thank you,” Jesse said, taking the proffered newspaper.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The cabin on the Brazos—March 5, 1942
Frederick Faust poured himself a cup of coffee, then offered to do the same for Jesse, who declined.
“When you went to Kansas City, did you actually intend to look up Zee?” Faust asked.
“Yes. I had no idea she had died. Though I guess we had died to each other a long time ago.”
“What if she had been alive, and you found her? What would you have done?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Would you have tried to get together again?”
Jesse was quiet for a long moment before he responded. “Yeah, I think I would have. We had lived together as Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Howard, we could have lived together as Mr. and Mrs. Frank Alexander.”
“Do you think she would have taken you back? I mean, parting had to be hard for her.”
“It was hard for both of us,” Jesse said.
“You don’t think you could have held out some hope to her that she could have joined you after six months, or a year?”
“Damn you, Fred, you aren’t making this any easier, are you? The truth is, I’ve thought about it many times over the last sixty years. I should have gone on to California and then let her join me after about six months. As I think back on it now, I’m sure we could have lived out the rest of our lives together without any trouble at all.”
“I’m sorry. I’m just trying to get the story here. The whole story. If I ask anything that’s too uncomfortable for you to deal with, you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”
“Ask anything you want. I’ll answer. The truth is, just real soon after I left Zee, I met Molly. I’m sure I’m not the only man on the run who has ever taken up with another woman. The only thing I can say for myself is that I didn’t use Molly. I married her, and we had a good life together.”
“Did you love Molly?”
“Yes.”
“Did you think about Zee?”
“There wasn’t hardly a day that went by that I didn’t think of her. I know it isn’t right, but I still loved Zee, too, just as much as I loved Molly. But I figured Zee had made a new life for herself, and who was I to interfere with that? Besides which, I took comfort in knowing that she had enough money to look after herself and the children.”
“But you told me she didn’t. You told me that Bob Ford hadn’t shared any of the reward with her. When you learned of her state of deprivation from the Kansas City Star journalist, was that the first you realized that Ford had not shared the reward as he had promised?”
“Yes,” Jesse said. “Like I said, if I had known earlier what Bob Ford did, I would have killed the son of a bitch myself.”
“I’m curious about the yellow rose. You told the florist that it couldn’t be a red rose, it had to be a yellow rose.”
“Yeah. Zee really liked yellow roses, and one day I picked one to give to her. She took on so much about having a single yellow rose, saying as how that was more romantic than getting a whole bouquet of flowers, that from time to time I’d just give her one yellow rose. She always liked that, so it just seemed like the thing to do, to get a yellow rose and put it on her grave.”
“You said it confused Billy.”
Jesse laughed. “Yeah, he was some surprised by it, all right.”
“You had not yet told Billy who you really were?” Faust asked.
Jesse chuckled. “Thank you.”
“Thank me?” Faust replied with a puzzled expression on his face. “Why are you thanking me?”
“You asked if I had told Billy who I really was. That means you believe that I am who I say I am.”
Now it was Faust’s turn to chuckle. “Well, I must say this. If you aren’t Jesse James, you are certainly spinning a convincing yarn. Convincing enough to keep me here for weeks, listening to you, and taking notes.”
“When are you going to write the book?”
“I’m writing it now. Every night, I transcribe my notes to the typewriter. Even this,” he added.
“Even this? What do you mean, even this?”
“If this book is going to have any validity, it has to include our contemporary conversations as well, not just your reminisces of the years between the time the world thought you had been killed, and now.”
“I reckon so.”
“Jesse, do you mind if we take a break and listen to some news?”
“No, I don’t mind at all,” Jesse replied, walking over to turn on the radio. After a few squeals and whistles, the announcer’s voice came through.
“. . . Pure Oil Company. And now, here is H.V. Kaltenborn.”
Kaltenborn’s clipped, precise voice followed.
“This is H.V. Kaltenborn. The Fifth Navy District announced today, that two more U.S merchantmen of medium size were sunk off our Atlantic coast last week, with the probable loss of twenty lives.
“German aircraft roared over Southern England yesterday, and some bombs were dropped. It is not believed that any lives were lost.
“The Japanese have reinforced their already numerically superior forces on the island of Luzon. This is believed to be in preparation for their intention to wipe out the American and Philippine force on Bataan.”
Jesse turned the radio off. “Why can’t they have any good news?” he asked.
“Wouldn’t you rather hear the truth, even if the news is bad?” Faust replied.
“Oh, yes, I do want the truth,” Jesse said. He chuckled. “I just want the truth to be good news.”
“I’m sure that time will come. Before this war, America had not been building up its military the way all the countries were doing in Europe and Asia,” Faust said. “I think we just thought that we were far enough away from the rest of the world, separated from both Europe and Asia by vast oceans, that the war wouldn’t come to us. But it did. I do believe though, that with our industrial base, we will soon become the most powerful nation in the entire world.”
“Aren’t we already?” Jesse replied.
“If you count the potential, yes, we certainly are,” Faust answered.
As Jesse lay in bed that night, the tree just outside his window cast moon shadows on the wall. The shadows were so sharply delineated that he could make out the individual leaves and branches as if they had been put there by a movie projector.
Getting out of bed, he padded over to the window to look out at the cottonwood tree. One of the leaves caught a flash from the moon and sent a sliver of silver slashing into the night.
Was he doing the right thing in telling his story now? Was it really, as he had stated, a need to purge his soul of all the evil deeds he had done in his life? Or was he just guilty of vanity? That was a charge that Frank had made first, then it had been picked up by newspapers around the country. “The persona of Jesse James is much larger than the man, Jesse James,” one newspaper article stated. “He is a man consumed by the need to be famous.”
Was that true? And if so, is that what he was doing now?
“No,” he said aloud. “I’ve brought up too many painful memories for it to be something like that. I’m doing what I must do. It has nothing to do with a need to be famous.”
Jesse turned away from the window and got back into bed. He lay there, staring up into the darkness for nearly an hour before sleep finally arrived.
Kearney, Missouri—August 1904
“Hey, Pa,” Billy said, looking up from the newspaper the hotel desk clerk had given them. “You know where I think we should go with our new automobile next?”
“Back to Kansas City?”
“No, sir. I think we should go to Saint Louis.”
“Saint Louis? Why?”
“Because that’s where they are having a World’s Fair. Listen to this: ‘The greatest gathering of mechanical wonders, scientific discoveries, and human oddities ever assembled are on display at the Saint Louis World’s Fair. An entire village has been moved from the Philippines and reconstructed on the fairgrounds and the villagers go about their lives, with little attention being paid to the million or more visitors who have come to view them.
The largest assemblage of automobiles ever to be in one place will be in Saint Louis for the world’s fair. ’”
“You want to drive all the way to Saint Louis in this machine?”
“Sure, why not? I think it would be fun.”
“I don’t know; it seems like a folly to me.”
“Well here, just take a look at the paper and see for yourself,” Billy said,
passing the newspaper over to him.
“I still think it’s—” Jesse started, then something in the newspaper caught his attention and he read it with great interest.
“See what I mean?” Billy said.
“What?”
“The story about the World’s Fair in Saint Louis. Don’t you think we ought to go?”
“Yes,” Jesse said. “I think we ought to go.”
There was one item in the article about the World’s Fair that particularly caught his interest. But he didn’t mention it to Billy.
It took them two and a half days to go from Kearney to St. Louis. On at least five occasions the road ran right through someone’s farm, and they had to pay tolls for passage, ranging from a nickel to a dollar. When they reached St. Louis the dirt road turned to a paved street. A sign identified it as Skinker Avenue, and although they had encountered a few motorized vehicles on their trip from Kearney, here they saw literally dozens of other automobiles, even though it was quite early in the morning. Many of the drivers honked and waved at them, as if all motorists were members of some exclusive club.
They were passing through an affluent residential area of the city where large, attractive, brick homes sat on well-manicured lawns. Uncollected newspapers lay on the front sidewalks.
“Billy, hop out and pick up one of those papers, then get back in. I’ll go slow enough for you to catch up,” Jesse said.
Billy did so.
“What does it say about the fair?”
“Wow,” Billy said. “It’s talkin’ about all the automobiles.”
“Read it.”
“It says, ‘At least ten thousand motorists and their passengers have arrived for the fair in more than twenty-five hundred automobiles worth an estimated five million dollars.’ That’s a lot of money,” Billy added.
“It sure is.”
“It also says,” Billy started, then he stopped. “Pa, we made the newspaper.”
“What?” Jesse asked sharply. “Our names are in the paper?”
“No, sir, it ain’t our names, but it’s talkin’ about us.”
“What do you mean? Read the article you’re talking about.”
Shot in the Back Page 14