I am Mrs. Jesse James

by Pat Wahler

  I fanned my cheeks and wished everyone would leave so I could think. Lucy was gone. Jesse could be anywhere. And from the stony look on Mama’s face, I knew that what had happened to sully the wedding day would be another mark she held against him.

  With a kettle on to heat the water, I pushed my rolling pin across the thick dough to flatten it for dumplings. The tip of my knife made the first cut, and I started on the second when Papa’s voice rang out through the house: “Frank and Jesse are here!”

  My knife clattered to the table. I wiped the flour from my hands onto my apron while I ran. Mama called after me, but I didn’t hear what she said. Smoothing my hair, I stopped short on the front porch.

  With his blue eyes shaded by a derby hat, Jesse sat astride a pretty bay mare, dressed in a fine, new suit coat and wearing a wide grin. Next to him, Frank was on a prancing chestnut, his face nearly hidden beneath a full, dark beard, much longer than it had been the last time I saw him. Jesse’s clean-shaven profile made an odd contrast to his brother’s, and I was pleased to see him looking so healthy and strong.

  Of the many things I wanted to say, now that he’d arrived, I uttered one word in a voice that squeaked an octave higher than normal. “Jesse.”

  He dismounted and walked over to take both my hands. “Hello, Zee.”

  “You look well.” My voice sounded vapid and foolish, yet I didn’t know what else I could say.

  Jesse, however, had never been one to stand silent. “Thanks to you, I feel better than ever. Buck and I are traveling through on business and stopped to see Ma. We need to be on our way, but I told him I couldn’t ride out without stopping here first, even if but for a moment.”

  Months of doubt melted away like April snow. He hadn’t forgotten me after all. Jesse lifted my hand to his lips while Frank turned studiously away to speak with Papa. A tremor shivered through me, and I wished mightily that his mouth touched my lips instead of my fingers, no matter who might be watching.

  “I’m glad you came. I must confess to fearing I would never hear from you again.”

  A line appeared between Jesse’s brows, though his eyes were merry. “Do you really think that poorly of me?”

  “So much time has gone by, I began to believe you had changed your mind. Or that I had dreamed our pledge. Do you still want the things we talked about so long ago?”

  “Of course, I do. You won’t be rid of me as easily as you seem to think. I intend to come back for you. It may take a while to do what I must do, but until then, I’ll visit as often as I’m able. I have ways of getting out a letter from time to time, too.”

  “You know I have no desire to be rid of you.”

  My gaze dropped for a moment, and when I looked up, the question I wanted to ask came tumbling out. “There’s been so much about you and Frank in the papers, all of it associated with terrible deeds. Is it true?”

  Jesse shook his head, and I wished I hadn’t taken the light from his eyes.

  “Don’t believe everything you read. A lot of those stories are made up by the Federals still trying their best to tarnish our names.” He shot a quick glance at Frank. “Just as we plan to undermine them any way we can.”

  Frank nodded, and then issued a gruff command. “We need to go now. The woods are full.”

  Jesse leaned toward me and placed a light kiss on my cheek. “Good-bye, Zee. Try not to worry. Take care of yourself, and remember I love you.”

  And then he vaulted onto his horse’s back. He and Frank spurred their animals forward and galloped away, though Jesse did turn to give me a final wave. I kept my hand raised in a farewell salute until Mama came to stand beside me, lips thinned enough to disappear.

  “What pledge?” she asked.

  I turned to face her. “You were listening? Our words were private.”

  “Nothing you do or say is too private for me not to know. What sort of pledge did you and Jesse make?”

  I considered lying, but my pride wouldn’t let me. “We plan to marry.”

  The color drained from her face. “Under no circumstances will Papa and I ever permit such a thing.”

  “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid it doesn’t matter what you think. I love him, and I want to marry him. There will never be anyone else for me.”

  “My girl, that would not be a good idea for many reasons, not the least of which is he is your blood cousin. He also has Federals searching the entire state for him. Jesse’s activities have not endeared him to the North, and I don’t want you to marry into such a life.”

  With feet firmly planted, my hands went to my hips.

  “So you would rather I marry someone else and be unhappy than to choose my own fate?”

  “Jesse is my own dear brother’s son and I love him, but I do not want you to align yourself with anyone who has the law nipping at his heels and must forever be on the run. You deserve much more than that.”

  “You’re right, Mama. I deserve to be with someone I love and who loves me in return.”

  She held up her hand to silence me from speaking further. “Enough. There is little point in any more argument. If and when the day comes that Jesse asks for your hand, decisions will be made. But remember this—he is young and walks a dangerous path. Who knows what the future may hold in store for him?”

  Mama’s ominous words were mitigated by my relief at newfound proof of Jesse’s devotion. I didn’t care about anything else. If he had asked me to climb behind him on his horse and ride away now, I would have done so. But until he was ready to make such a commitment, I could only wonder when I would hear from him again. I put my hand in my pocket and clutched the penny. For the time being, I must be content with as much as he was able to give me.

  Over the next many months, more bold robberies were reported. The stories claimed the crimes were linked and laid the blame directly at the feet of Jesse and Frank James. I refused to drive into town. Curious stares from our neighbors had become too grating. By the end of 1869, even Papa seemed shaken.

  “I cannot believe it.” Papa waved a newspaper he’d brought home. “Jesse wrote a letter to Governor McClurg about the bank robbery in Gallatin. It’s printed right here in the Liberty Tribune. He says he and Frank are innocent of robbing the bank and killing the cashier and that he can prove it, but he doesn’t want to turn himself in for fear of being hung without a trial. Listen to his final lines:

  But as to them mobbing me for a crime I am innocent of, that is played out. As soon as I think I can get a just trial I will surrender myself to the civil authorities of Missouri and prove to the world I am innocent of the crime charged against me.

  Respectfully,

  Jesse W. James

  Papa put the paper down, and I grabbed it to read the letter with my own eyes. Jesse had been bold to send it, but I understood why. Despite his thirst for retribution, I knew he didn’t want to be a hunted man.

  Later, the Tribune published letters from three people who swore Jesse and Frank were in Kearney, not Gallatin, when the robbery occurred. One affidavit came from a friend of the Samuel family, a merchant named Mr. Groom. Another came from Jesse’s sister, Susie, and the final one from Zerelda. I could not believe Jesse would commit such a callous act as he’d been accused of, but even I knew it would have been better for him if someone other than friend or family offered proof of his innocence.

  Yet much to my surprise, the letters did help his cause. Fewer accusations were flung about, and we heard almost no demands for either his arrest or for the snap and stretch of a hangman’s noose. With passions cooling, hope stirred my heart, until a telegram came to us.

  My dear family,

  The boys left for Texas, where many of their friends are gathering. I do not know how long they will be gone, but I fear greatly for their safety, and most earnestly beg you to pray for them.

  Zerelda Samuel

  12

  Zerelda didn’t need to beg me for prayer. The fear in her telegram had infected me like a fever. I included Jesse and Fra
nk in my supplications to heaven more times each day than I could count, hoping God listened to me more clearly now than he had done before. Some days my heart filled with such turmoil that I asked Papa to pray along with me. Seeing his calm and steady hands clasped together kept my thoughts from spinning beyond control.

  The passage of time cooled gossip and virulent outcries against the rebels, returning our lives almost to normal as new settlers arrived in Harlem. Our empty rooms filled with guests. While this happy circumstance added to the family’s pocketbook, it also multiplied the tasks to be done. Keeping busy didn’t bother me, for when occupied, I had less time to mull over the question of when—or if—I would see Jesse again. Shrouding my worries with work, I sometimes forgot to eat. My clothes fit me looser than they had in years.

  After a long day spent weeding the garden and scrubbing every floor in the house, my head drooped over dinner. Papa touched my arm, and I jerked my head up.

  “Zee, you are exhausting yourself. Try to finish dinner, then go to bed.” His eyes were gentle and his tone made me feel like a child comforted during a thunderstorm by her father’s calm assurances. There were many times he had tucked me into bed years ago in Kentucky and his presence never failed to soothe me. I dutifully ate a few more bites, then pushed away my plate.

  Mama peered at me and placed her hand on my forehead. “There aren’t any signs of fever, but you need rest. Go to bed now.”

  I went to my room and slipped under the covers, trying to sleep, but my eyes simply would not close. I strained to hear the distant sound of a horse’s hooves galloping down the road. But only the chirp of crickets and call of a whippoorwill met my ears. After long minutes of tossing and turning, I rose, threw a shawl over my shoulders, and tiptoed outside.

  Sitting on the bottom step of the porch beneath a silent expanse of stars, I looked up and hoped that somewhere in Texas, Jesse studied the same pinpricks of light. A pack of coyotes howled a mournful chorus and I shivered, clutching the shawl tighter around me. The solitude relieved my aching heart, so I stayed on that step until the stars disappeared and the eastern sky blushed a pale shade of rose. Finally, I crept back inside. The next morning, Mama did not wake me. I slept until dinner.

  Piling breakfast dishes in the dry sink, I poured a kettle of hot water over them. Thunder shook the house and thick dark clouds had gathered in the sky.

  “Thank the Lord, it looks like rain is on the way. I will be out in the garden helping Papa before it starts,” Mama told me, untying her apron.

  Thank the Lord, indeed. The plants had become so parched; we’d taken to carrying pails of water out to the garden to keep them alive.

  I washed each of the plates, and then whisked a towel over them. After they had been stacked on the table, I considered whether to put them away or get laundry off the line before the storm hit. Before I could make a decision, a woman’s scream made me inhale a sharp breath. Heart racing, I dropped the towel and ran outside.

  Near the garden, Papa lay on the ground with one arm outstretched as though reaching for something. Mama kneeled over him.

  When she saw me, her hand went to her throat. “He’s gone, Zee. Papa is dead!”

  I dropped to my knees and touched him, hoping to find the sign of a heart still beating. But his chest was silent and still. Mama’s hands were clasped around his, and tears flowed down her cheeks.

  Our newest boarder, Mr. Ackerman, ran toward us, skidding to a halt when he took in the scene. His mouth gaped in horror.

  “Please fetch Dr. Lykins,” I said. “I can’t leave Mama.”

  “Yes, Miss Mimms,” he said and sprinted toward the barn. I stared down at Papa’s face, my eyes burning and my heart numb with disblief. But I dared not let myself cry. Mama needed me. My arm went around her thin shoulders. “Would you like to go inside?”

  “No.” She did not lift her head. “I must stay here.” She smoothed his hair, her other hand still holding his. Mama moved her lips silently while I watched the road, willing the doctor to arrive. When the sound of carriage wheels finally came, my breath caught to see that Dr. Lykins had the coroner with him.

  Both men examined Papa, then the doctor took Mama’s hand in his. “I’m very sorry, Mrs. Mimms. It looks as though he was taken by a cardiac insufficiency before he even knew what happened.” He turned to me. “Let us carry him into the house for you.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “We’ll make a place for him in the parlor.”

  They lifted him, and thunder rumbled again. A few drops of rain pattered on our heads as I helped Mama to her feet and we walked toward the house to prepare for what must be done.

  The next two days were a nightmare of people coming and going. They spoke in quiet tones and brought more food than we could ever hope to eat, even if we had the appetite to do so. My brothers and sisters returned with their families. We wrapped our arms around each other and wept together. Our neighbors spoke kind words about how much they would miss Papa’s sound and steady guidance. Even Zerelda, Reuben, and their young children drove from Kearney to witness Papa’s plain pine coffin lowered into the ground.

  The old cemetery smelled of weathered limestone. Flowers moldered on graves, with monuments standing in neat rows to mark the final resting place of a parent, a child, a sweetheart, or a friend. My chin trembled as the first clods of earth fell on Papa’s casket, but I withheld my tears and gripped Mama’s hand. I longed for the comfort of Jesse’s strength, but he and Frank were far away and most likely not even aware of what had happened.

  Once the pastor uttered his final words of prayer, we trudged away in a sad procession. A gentle breeze caressed my face, ruffling wisps of hair from my bonnet. Zerelda put her arms around me. “Your papa was a good man. We will miss him very much.”

  “Indeed, we will. Every day.” My heart skittered at the thought.

  She tilted her head and while Mama spoke to Reuben, she whispered to me, “You must be wondering about Jesse. I have no news of him or Frank. A few friends in Texas may know where he is. I will try my best to get word to him of your loss.”

  She left my side when Mama turned back to me, hand outstretched to take mine. The mourners bestowed a final handshake or hug before leaving us. They would return to their own lives. Ours would never be the same. Once everyone save my brother Robert and his family left us, we drove home in silence. Mama sank into a chair at the kitchen table. I put a plate in front of her, but she only pushed the food with her fork. It frightened me to see her so quiet.

  “You’ll become ill if you don’t eat something, Mama.”

  She looked down at the plate and didn’t reply.

  Robert took her arm. “You must be worrying about how you’ll manage with Papa gone. I want you to know I’ve saved some money since I moved back to Missouri. It’s not a lot, but I’d like to buy the boarding house from you. I will run it and you can lay down your burdens and stay as long as you want.”

  Mama shook her head and tucked a persistent strand of graying hair behind her ear. When her chin lifted, I noticed the first spark since before Papa’s death.

  “No. He would not want me to give up. As long as I am able, I will run this place. I can hire a man for the outside work, and Zee can help me with the rest as she has always done.”

  With my own future uncertain, and new wounds so fresh, there seemed no reason to disagree with her. I nodded, feeling like an otter caught in a trap. Robert kissed her cheek.

  “Very well. But remember you can send word any time you need me.”

  Mama’s back slumped as soon as Robert gathered his family and left.

  “You must go and lie down now, Mama. You haven’t slept in days.”

  She let me lead her to the bed she had shared with Papa. I tucked a well-worn quilt around her, and she brushed her hand across the soft faded fabric. Her eyes squeezed shut, and I tiptoed away.

  The parlor seemed quieter than a tomb. I thought of Papa and wondered idly how the sun could still rise and set withou
t his smiling face. Sunbeams from the window fell across his Bible, sitting as always on the table near his favorite chair. Over the years, I’d seen it in his hands countless times. I picked up the heavy gilt-edged book, and discovered a card Mama had embroidered and sewn onto a faded blue ribbon that marked a place. I opened the book.

  Breathing in the scent of decades-old pages, my finger moved down to where Papa had underlined a verse, Psalm 30:5.“For his anger endureth but a moment; in his favor is life: weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.”

  I closed the book and hugged it to my chest as tears rolled down my cheeks.

  13

  We did not celebrate Christmas that year. Mama had no desire to visit anyone, nor did she feel up to having family come see us. Much as I would have enjoyed the diversion of my sisters and brothers, and the chance to smile at the antics of young nieces and nephews, I respected her wishes to keep our first Christmas without Papa reserved for quiet reflection.

  After the holiday passed, we entered 1871, a new year that I hoped would bring happier times. At least we were blessed with mild weather. Snow dusted the ground less than half a dozen times over the worst months of winter, swiftly melting into a slushy muck. Even though we didn’t need to shovel deep snowdrifts, the loss of Papa, coupled with the short days and dreary lack of sunlight, dampened my spirit.

  When February arrived, it held the promise of spring close enough to touch. I threw grain to the chickens and smiled as they clucked, scratched in the dirt, and flapped their wings at each other. A rooster preened and strutted near his harem. Soon, fluffy yellow chicks would follow the hens, adding their peeps to the brash cacophony. When the chickens abruptly grew silent and lifted their heads, I looked up. The sound of a horse’s hooves rang on the road. I saw a rider urging his mount straight toward me. I stared for a moment at the apparition, and then the empty bucket dropped and my hand went to my throat.

  Jesse.

  As soon as his horse reached me, he pulled back the reins sharply enough that the animal reared, her front legs slashing the air. He settled her, and then dismounted, his steed dancing in place without bolting, even though he had dropped the reins. I ran straight into his waiting arms, dampening his dusty shirtfront with my tears. He held me tight against him.