I am Mrs. Jesse James

by Pat Wahler

  With Frank in pursuit of his passion for farming, Jesse’s world narrowed. Most of his old companions had been killed or remanded to jail, so he sought out new friends, and found men such as Dick Liddil and Bill Ryan. Bill lived in Missouri, but he often stayed in our barn when he came to Nashville. Bill made me uneasy from the moment I met him, and I felt as though his eyes bored into my back every time I walked past him.

  His presence made me anxious and drove a wedge between Jesse and me. I tried not to let it show, but sometimes my tone was sharpened. One evening, after a long day of tending to the two children and watching Jesse come in and out making mysterious plans for his next trip, my voice betrayed me.

  “So how many will we have for dinner tonight?”

  Jesse acted as though he barely heard me. “I don’t know. Depends on who shows up.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “But I need to know how much food to make.”

  He turned to look at me, a scowl on his face. “Use your judgment, Zee, and don’t peck at me.”

  Stung, I marched to the kitchen and put a kettle on to boil. Something gnawed my husband, though I had no idea what. He was so secretive, and I feared the influence his new friends had over him. I sliced potatoes into chunks and mulled over our situation.

  A few moments later, Jesse came to stand behind me, circling his arms around my waist. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. There are a lot of things happening. You know money’s tight again. I’ve got to do something to make quick cash.”

  I stiffened, and he nuzzled my neck. “Please, sweetheart, you know how much I need you.”

  I put down the knife and the sound of his smoky voice turned me like a flower to the sun. “Please don’t leave, Jesse. I’m worried. I don’t trust these new men.”

  “Try to understand my position. Now that Frank refuses to go with me, I had to find others to help. You understand that, don’t you?”

  “I try to, but this life is wearing me thin. When will this marauding ever stop? When will we be free of it?”

  “Maybe sooner than you think. I sent a letter about some property in Nevada, and I’m getting more information about acreage I heard of in Nebraska. Either would work out well for raising horses. Once I find out how much money I’ll need, we can make our plans.”

  I said nothing and picked up another potato to slice.

  The next morning, Jesse rode out, not returning this time until the middle of September. I could tell by his beaming face that the trip had gone well. He kissed Tim and the baby before putting his arms around me.

  “I have something for you,” he pulled out a small velvet bag. “This is my thanks for being such an understanding wife.” He opened the bag and withdrew a diamond ring. Then he took my hand and pushed it on my finger next to the thin gold band I hadn’t removed since the day we were wed.

  “It’s beautiful,” I said as the ring sparkled from the fire’s light. Even though I knew his guilt had prompted the gesture, I still loved it.

  “You deserve this and more. I tell you, my dear, it won’t be much longer until all our dreams come true.”

  But by the time the year ended, Jesse was gone more than not. It seemed like he’d been driven into a frenzy of activity, though he spoke little of it to me. When at home, his eyes seldom left the window and he wore his guns until he went to bed at night. Jesse kept the pocket pistol he’d given me loaded and hidden in the bottom of a trunk near our bed.

  Only his love of horses did not change. Jesse bought a new sorrel stallion named Jim Malone. He and Dick Liddil raced the animal at the track. Occasionally, Frank left Annie to join them. The horse won an impressive nine times, and Jesse boasted that none could beat him. Yet he soon grew disenchanted and sold Jim Malone, vowing to find an even faster horse.

  By early 1881, I wondered how much longer he could keep such a pace and how much longer I could deal with it. Only my children gave me something to think of other than the devils chasing Jesse’s soul. Even the children had grown restless. Tim, now more than five years old, had taken to staring out the window when other children played near our house. “Mama, can I go outside and play with them?”

  “I’m sorry, but Papa feels it best that you stay in the house with me.”

  Tim’s eyes were wide. “Doesn’t Papa like other children?”

  “It’s not that, dear. He worries about you and doesn’t want anything to happen. Come along. I’ve been thinking about making some candy. Would you like to help?”

  He looked longingly out the window but turned away to join me. My boy tried so hard to be good. It broke my heart that he couldn’t be like the other children. Jesse had become fiercely protective, and jittery that any slip of the tongue would bring dire consequences. He’d even forbidden me from talking to the neighbors except on occasions when such rudeness became impossible. I thanked God to have Annie and little Robert nearby, or my world would have grown even smaller than when I lived at the boarding house. Some invisible force drove my husband, and I despaired of discovering what it could be—or of how to fix a wound I couldn’t even see.

  On a cool late March evening, a rider galloped to our house just after I’d put the children to bed. Jesse pulled out his revolver and peered through the window. A moment later, he sighed and holstered the weapon. “It’s Dick,” he told me and opened the door.

  Dick Liddil rushed in, puffing, and carrying the odor of dust and layered sweat. “I just heard Bill Ryan’s been arrested. He was drunk on his ass at a bar in White’s Creek. They found him with money and weapons in his pockets, and he started to brag in that Irish brogue of his about being an outlaw and fighting the government. You know how thick-headed he can be when he’s in his cups. The man can’t be trusted. I’ll wager he’ll soon squawk to high heaven about everything he knows.”

  Jesse’s face grew pale, and his body stiffened. The flames from the fireplace made his eyes glisten like a fox’s.

  “Frank’s visiting at the next farm. I’ll ride over to get him,” Jesse said. “We need to clear out of here before Ryan talks, or there’ll be a noose for each of us.” He turned to me and repeated the words I’d heard so many times.

  “Start packing at once. We need to be gone before the sun comes up.”

  29

  It took Jesse and Frank mere minutes to plan our exodus. Because they said it would be too obvious, they decided Annie and I couldn’t travel together. “I’m putting Annie and Robert on the train to Kansas City,” Frank said. “Her father will let them stay until I can get back.”

  Jesse had already told me that the children and I would take the train to Donnie Pence in Nelson County, Kentucky until he came for us. Jesse trusted Donnie, a former guerilla comrade, completely. They’d grown up together in Clay County, and I remembered his bushy walrus moustache from the few occasions I’d seen him since. After the war, he’d ridden with Jesse in the early years, until a bullet helped convince him to settle in Kentucky.

  Dick Liddil rented two large buckboard wagons and horses to pull them. When the sun dropped low enough to peek over the horizon, we scrambled to load the items we could take. With Mary on my hip, I gave Tim a small bag of clothes to carry, while the men loaded trunks, the dismantled pieces of our beds, and even a small stove. Annie carried her bags to the wagon, looking as though she might burst into tears at any moment. The men arranged items with practiced skill. I looked at the clear evening sky and gave thanks for the absence of heavy clouds that might bring rain.

  Jesse, Frank, and Dick planned to linger near Nashville until they discovered what information Bill gave authorities and whether what he said would connect John Howard and Ben Woodson to the outlaws everyone sought.

  Our wagons would of necessity travel in different directions, so before we parted, I hugged my sister-in-law. Tears trailed down her cheeks.

  “Good-bye, Annie. I hope we’ll see each other again soon.”

  She held me close and swallowed a sob. “I’ll pray hard we make it through this.”

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p; “As will I. Take good care of yourself and my little Robert.” I kissed the cheek of the now three-year-old boy, remembering the months I had nursed him for Annie. “Good-bye, my little sweetheart. May God bless you.”

  There were shadows under Frank’s eyes too, when he kissed me good-bye. He’d been so content in his role of farmer. I knew he would miss the life he’d created for himself, and I sensed his sorrow at becoming a wanderer yet again.

  Jesse took his brother’s hand to shake it, but Frank grabbed Jesse’s shoulders in a tight hug. It lasted a moment before Jesse broke free and rubbed his sleeve across his eyes.

  “Damned dust,” he muttered to me.

  Frank drove the buckboard away, his horse tied behind it so he could turn the reins over to Annie when they were closer to the depot. Jesse watched them with an attentive gaze. Then he turned and slapped the reins, and the horse carried us away. Dick rode alongside, slouch hat pulled low. Jesse’s mare, tied to our buckboard, followed behind.

  “I’ll have you on the train first thing for Kentucky,” Jesse said. “You’ll need to travel from a different depot than Annie so a nosy reporter doesn’t put two and two together. Donnie will be waiting. He’s a loyal man and will look out for you and the children.”

  “How long until you come for us?”

  “I’m not sure. It may take a little while but keep watch. I’ll be there soon as I can.”

  A breeze blew against my face while the children dozed. Stars blinked through the maze of treetops, and I considered the quiet strength of the tall oaks and pines along the road. They had to sink their roots deep to flourish through strong winds and stormy weather. If someone tried to transplant them, they’d soon wither and die.

  “What are you thinking, Zee?” Jesse asked in a soft voice.

  “Only wondering where we’ll go next. Have you decided yet?”

  “I’m considering a stay in Kansas City. We’ve been away a long time. I think we both need to be among our kin again.”

  “Is that wise?”

  “I won’t take us anywhere that isn’t safe.” He pulled back on the horse’s reins. “We’re close enough to the depot for me to leave you now.” Jesse handed me twenty dollars in greenbacks. “This is the last of our cash. I don’t think the tickets will run you much. After you buy them, use what’s left for any expense you have until I get to Kentucky. Be frugal as you can.”

  “But what if you need money?”

  “I can take care of myself. Don’t worry about me.”

  The children stirred and stretched. Jesse leaned down to kiss them and Mary clung to her papa.

  “Be a good girl, Mary. Tim, you must stand in for me. Look out for your mama and sister.”

  “I will, Papa,” came his small voice, speaking as stoutly as he could manage.

  Finally, Jesse took me in his arms. He kissed me hard and whispered, “I love you.”

  “I love you, too. Please be careful and come back to us soon.”

  He touched his hat and smiled. “You know I will.” He pulled an envelope from the pocket of his coat. “I need you to mail this when you reach Kentucky.”

  I nodded and tucked the envelope into my bag. “I’ll take care of it for you.”

  Jesse untied his horse and swung into the saddle. Dick Liddil pushed ahead on the road, and I swatted the reins across the horse’s back. When I turned to give Jesse a final wave, he was gone.

  The creak and roll of wagon wheels and the horse’s clip clops silenced any other sounds. We didn’t have far to go. By the time the sun peeked around clouds and lightened the horizon with color like a ripe peach, we’d arrived at the depot. I pulled the horse to a stop and tied him to a post. An engine hissed in readiness to leave, waking Tim and Mary.

  “Tim, you stay here with your sister while I get our tickets for the train.”

  “Yes, Mama,” he replied, dangling a toy horse in front of Mary’s face.

  She giggled and reached for it.

  At the ticket window, a man with spectacles and long gray whiskers raised his head from the papers on his desk. “May I help you, ma’am?”

  “I’m traveling to Nelson County, Kentucky, with my two children. We need tickets. I also have a wagonload of goods to ship.”

  “Let’s see. For you, the children’s fares, and your cargo, the charge will be twenty-five dollars.”

  My eyes widened. “What? How can our passage be so much?”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, but it’s twenty dollars for your fare and five dollars for a shipment to Kentucky.”

  “Let me think about it for a moment, please. I’ll be right back.”

  I turned from him and pondered what to do. How could I travel with two young children and not so much as a penny to spare? What if something happened to delay our arrival and I couldn’t feed them even a scrap of bread or send a telegram for help? I stared at the wagon where my children played together, and an idea came. I gulped and went back inside the depot.

  “Sir, I have a fine horse and a wagon filled with household goods. I’m a widow trying to get my children back to our family and can’t afford to take everything with me. Do you know anyone who might like to buy the wagon and horse and all the goods except for my trunk?” The lie came so easily that my cheeks burned. I forced myself not to look away.

  But the man at the window misunderstood my embarrassment and regarded me with kind eyes. “Well, ma’am, I suppose we can always use another buggy and horse to rent. And come to think of it, there are often folks passing through who need to buy a few items they forgot to bring along. How would it be if I gave you forty-five dollars for everything? Would that help you out?”

  “Oh, yes, thank you. You’re most generous.”

  “That’s all right, ma’am. I’m sorry for your loss. I’d like to think if my wife was left alone, somebody would help her out, too.”

  The clerk counted out the money, less the cost of our tickets and payment to ship the trunk. I put the cash in my purse and smiled at him. “Thank you again, sir. Can you tell me when the train leaves?”

  He pulled out a pocket watch. “It’s scheduled to go in thirty minutes. It should be a nice ride for you unless some bandits decide they like the looks of our train.” He laughed at his own joke until he saw the color drain from my face. “Oh, don’t worry, ma’am. Our train hasn’t been held up in a long time. You got nothing to fear.”

  I nodded and swallowed hard. As I walked back to the children, I had to press my lips together to keep them from trembling. I’d just lied to a gentleman who did me a kindness and sold him a horse and wagon that belonged to someone else. I supposed what Jesse had said was true. A person could do just about anything with their back pressed against the wall.

  Tim looked at me with his father’s eyes. “Mama, can we have something to eat?”

  “I have a sandwich to split between you. It will have to do for now.”

  They reached for the small offering from the sack I’d brought from home. Tim took slow and purposeful bites while Mary stuffed her cheeks so full, she looked like a chipmunk. I wasn’t hungry.

  A loud whistle caught my attention. Mary covered her ears while we watched passengers climb the steps to board the train. I took the children’s hands. We walked to the car, and I pointed out my trunk to the porter. Reaching our seats, Tim and Mary settled across from me. Fearing some quirk of fate might cause me to be hauled from the train and sent to the sheriff, I closed my eyes and prayed we’d soon be underway.

  But no one chased me. When the train chuffed from the station, I breathed a sigh of relief. Tim and Mary peered out the window to see a herd of cattle. They pointed and giggled until the rocking motion lulled them to silence, then to sleep.

  I pulled from my bag the envelope Jesse had given me. He’d addressed it to D.T. Bligh, of the Pinkerton agency. The name sounded familiar, and I searched my memory until it came to me. Bligh was one of the detectives who’d been after Jesse and told everyone in Kearney he hoped he’d live long enoug
h to see Jesse James at least once. I stared at the envelope, and noticed the flap wasn’t quite sealed. I knew I shouldn’t, but at that point, nothing could stop me from opening it to see what Jesse had written.

  The plain white paper showed a simple message in Jesse’s scrawl.

  Mr. Bligh, you have seen me. Now you can go ahead and die. From your friend—Jesse James

  I shook my head. His hatred for the Pinkertons still rankled him, even though Alan Pinkerton had given up on the idea of finding Jesse James. Jesse took a strange delight in toying with his enemies and did things calculated to fan bright flames even higher. It was as though he lived for the challenge of outwitting anyone who hunted him.

  I rested my head against the cool window and stared at the scenery flashing past. The day’s deeds had soured my stomach. I closed my eyes. What has happened to us, Jesse? What has happened to me? My thoughts circled back to the money in my bag, and I deliberately tucked what I’d done in a corner of my heart where rested all the things for which I hoped God would someday be merciful enough to forgive me.

  But something else in my thoughts could not be so easily banished. Each minute, the train took me farther away from two small babies lying in the cold damp ground of Tennessee.

  30

  When our train arrived in Kentucky, I stood and stretched my neck. Both of the children were still sound asleep, exhausted from the rapid scramble from home and late-night ride.

  I called to them softly. “Tim, Mary, it’s time to wake up. We need to go.”

  Tim rubbed his eyes. Mary yawned, and I smoothed her rumpled hair.

  “Come along now, children.”

  They left their seats and stumbled after me. The porter offered his arm as I stepped to the planked depot station platform.

  “Sir, where might I find my trunk?”

  “Three cars back, ma’am. That’s where the cargo is unloaded. I hope you and the children enjoyed your trip.” He tipped his cap to me.

  “Yes, we did. Thank you.”