I am Mrs. Jesse James

by Pat Wahler

Mary, never one to waken without effort, moved so stiffly I had to pick her up and carry her. She nestled her head against my shoulder while Tim trotted at my side.

  I searched through many boxes and crates piled in a haphazard heap before finding my battered old trunk among them. Knowing better than to lift it myself, I looked around for help. I’d decided to pay someone to carry the trunk, when a deep voice growled.

  “Hello there, ma’am!”

  I turned and saw Donnie Pence, walrus moustache bushy as ever. He walked toward me with an ear-to-ear grin, moving like a man who spent a great deal of time on his feet. Relieved to see a familiar face, I dimpled when he took my hand.

  “How are you doing, my dear? These little cherubs must be your young-uns. I’ve heard all about them from their pa.”

  “Yes. This is Tim and Mary.”

  Mary hid behind my skirt and peeked at him with round eyes. Donnie bent over and stuck out his hand for Tim to shake like a big boy would. “How de-do,” Donnie said as Tim’s small hand disappeared into Donnie’s ham-sized fist.

  “Well now, where might your bags be?”

  I pointed at the trunk and Donnie hoisted it over his shoulder as though it contained nothing more than feathers.

  “Follow me,” he said.

  The children and I traipsed behind him, dodging other passengers, until I remembered Jesse’s letter. “Could you give me one moment to post this, please?”

  “You go ahead and do what you must. I’ll stay here with the small fry.”

  I mailed the letter and returned to see Donnie sitting on the trunk deep in conversation with the children. Tim listened with rapt attention, and even Mary had become bold enough to sit on his knee.

  “I see you’ve charmed my children.”

  He chuckled and put Mary back on her feet. “I was just telling them about the litter of puppies my hound dog had yesterday. Told them they could go to the barn and take a look when we get home.”

  I could tell by their shining faces that the idea pleased them very much. Donnie lifted the trunk again and we resumed our trek behind him. It surprised me to notice nearly every passerby greeted Donnie with a smile and a wave.

  “Good day, Sheriff.”

  “How do you do, Sheriff Pence?”

  “Hello, Sheriff.”

  With my perspective narrowed to my own circumstances, I’d completely forgotten that Donnie had long ago put his past behind him and had been voted sheriff of the county. He’d served honorably for the past ten years and, according to Jesse, who still visited him from time to time, had become one of the most beloved citizens in the community. That a lawman and my husband would be on such good terms seemed strange to me, yet he, Jesse, and Frank had grown up together in Missouri, fought side-by-side in the war, and even ridden through a few private battles once the war ended. Their ties remained unbroken.

  On the drive home, we kept our conversation to nothing more significant than the weather and crops and happier times, for Tim and Mary were both wide awake and listening to every word we said.

  I adjusted my hat and smiled. “So you’re a farmer in addition to being sheriff? How do you find time for it all?”

  “Sheriffing is simple enough. We hardly ever have a crime, short of a stolen chicken once in a while. Farming is harder. But it helps when you can hire a few men who know what they’re doing.”

  When we passed the neatly plowed fields of Donnie’s farm, his chest expanded with pride. He drove us toward a clapboard two-story farmhouse and shouted for his wife. “Belle, they’re here.”

  A short, plump dark-haired woman came out on the porch, wiping her hands on a towel. She smiled cordially. “Hello, Mrs. … Howard. It’s good to meet you at last.”

  That she paused a moment before saying my name, spoke volumes. Someone told her what to call me.

  I nodded. “How do you do? I’m pleased to meet you and so grateful for your hospitality.”

  “Come with me. I have a room fixed up for the three of you. Donnie will bring in your trunk.” She led us to a room with a full bed and a smaller cot that Tim and Mary would share. Mrs. Pence’s eyes followed my children hungrily. “They’re very sweet. I pray someday Donnie and I may be so blessed. Is it all right if I get them something to eat?”

  “Oh, that would be wonderful. They haven’t had much since yesterday. We had to leave so fast.”

  She slanted a sympathetic glance toward me before turning back to the children. “I have a nice lunch for you in the kitchen if you’re hungry.”

  Ever cautious, Tim first looked at me. “May we go, Mama?”

  “Yes, Tim. You and Mary go with Mrs. Pence. Remember your manners.”

  All shyness gone at the promise of food, Tim and Mary followed her. I took off my hat and sat on a chair near the bed. The thought of a good night’s sleep made me run my hand longingly over the faded patchwork quilt thrown across the sheets.

  I jumped when Donnie thumped my trunk near the door.

  “Thank you. I’m not sure where we would have gone if not here with you.”

  “Always happy to help my friends.” He shook his head. “I keep trying to convince Jesse to quit his old ways. Sooner or later he’s going to get caught, you know. That boy sure is a lot different from his brother. Buck would like to settle down, but Jesse’s always had a restlessness about him. From what I know, his pa did too, which is why he’s in a grave out in California instead of at home with his family. Jesse was too young to be a part of the things he did during the war. It marked him for good. Of course, old Mrs. Samuel doesn’t help matters much, either. She practically spoon-fed her boys defiance from the time they was old enough to listen.”

  I sighed. No one knew Jesse’s nature better than I. “I hope our presence won’t bring you any trouble. After all, you are the sheriff.”

  He stroked his moustache for a moment before he spoke. “You know, there’s a lot of things that happened to us during the war. Things that made men who rode together become closer than brothers. Like the day I rode with Quantrill’s gang and some bluecoat shot my horse dead. That old plug fell over, and I got pinned under him with a regiment of Federals coming my way, whooping and hollering. There were a few of us left standing, and most everybody high-tailed it for cover—except Frank. He came back and pulled me from under my horse. Then he and Jesse helped me get away. They saved my life. You don’t soon forget something like that.”

  “I understand war makes a strong bond. But what about your wife? Will this bother her?”

  “Belle understands. She’s a Kentucky gal, born and raised. You needn’t have any fear over her feelings.”

  Perhaps his home was, indeed, the safest place for us. Who would think to question the motives of their beloved sheriff?

  After dinner, I went to bed and fell into a dreamless sleep. In the morning, I awoke with a throat that scratched and my skin felt hot.

  Belle put her hand on my forehead. “I’d better send for the doctor. We can’t be too careful with fever, you know.”

  By mid-afternoon, she returned with a tall, gray-haired man.

  “Mrs. Howard, this is Dr. Spencer.” Belle smiled. “I’ll leave you for now. I promised the children I’d take them out to see the new puppies.”

  The doctor bent over me. “Now, Mrs. Howard, let me see what’s ailing you.”

  The doctor completed his examination and diagnosed me with exhaustion and a cold that had settled in my head. I took a spoonful of a bitter-tasting concoction and he told me I should rest. Then he set a bottle of medicine by my bedside, patted my hand, and left. I followed his orders, always fearful of the onset of a blue spell.

  But within a few days, I felt myself again, and rose from my bed, more anxious than ever for Jesse to come. The children had been well-entertained during my recovery. Donnie let them follow him about on the farm while Belle baked so many sweet treats, I hoped we wouldn’t need to call the doctor for a return visit.

  It took another week before Jesse, Frank, and
Dick Liddil rode in late one evening. I breathed a prayer of thanks. Newspaper stories of the ongoing manhunt for Jesse James, made me despair over whether they’d ever make it back. Even Donnie had looked pensive over their prospects. Yet once again, Jesse returned to me, though not without effort.

  The three men were thin, covered with sweat-dampened travel dirt, and ravenous. Belle and I put together a quick meal of cold meat and bread. Since the children were already asleep upstairs, we were free to speak as we wished.

  “Zee, I’m sending you on the train to Kansas City with the children. When you arrive, I’ll have somebody take you to your sister Nancy’s house until I meet you there.”

  “But you just came back. Can’t we travel together?”

  He sighed. “You know better than that. There are too many men looking for me, but there’s no law against a woman taking her children to visit their aunt. I expect in about a week or so, I’ll follow you. By that time, I’ll have figured out where we go next.”

  I didn’t want to question him in front of so many listening ears, but had to ask, “What if we try Texas or Mexico? Maybe no one will hunt for you there.”

  “I’m not letting any man chase me away from where I want to be. Besides, I’d feel better if you’re near both my family and yours. That way there’ll be someone to look out for you if anything happens to me.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of money. After peeling off one hundred dollars from the roll, he pressed it into my hand.

  When we went upstairs, I couldn’t help but whisper, “Where did that amount of money come from?”

  Metallic as a coiled spring, his voice chilled the room. “I’ve been busy. Doing what I do best.”

  31

  On May 1, 1881, the children and I arrived in Kansas City. Clarence Hite, Jesse’s cousin, took us to Nancy’s house. Nannie fussed over the children and clucked her tongue at me. Her husband Charles peeked over a newspaper in front of his face and acknowledged us with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

  When Jesse arrived a few days later, I scrambled into his arms. He told me he’d rented a small house in Kansas City for us, not far from my brother Thomas. Although we still would live under assumed names, after four years, I would once again be near family, and the thought soothed my soul, save for one lingering doubt.

  “Will it be dangerous for us to live in the heart of Kansas City?”

  “The best place in the world to hide is right out in the open.” He picked up my bag to load it. “That way folks don’t suspect you’re up to anything.”

  Jesse did take a few new precautions. He grew a thick beard and let his usually neatly cropped hair grow to over his collar. A potion he bought from the mercantile turned his hair and beard from sandy blond to a dark brown, and he used a cane when he strolled about the city, walking with a feigned limp. Jesse guffawed when he told me of stopping in to say howdy to the sheriff, just to prove he could do it. My uneasiness over his behavior grew.

  On a sunny afternoon, he pushed away his empty plate and leaned back in his chair. “I have a meeting tomorrow night. Don’t wait on me for supper.”

  I gathered up the dirty dishes and put them in the dry sink. “Who are you meeting?”

  “Just Frank and a few of the boys.”

  My brow arched. “I thought Frank was busy working for his father-in-law.”

  “That doesn’t mean he’s abandoned the idea to make some quick money.”

  “It’ll upset Annie if he rides with you again. She has her heart set on him working a regular job.”

  Jesse chuckled. “I haven’t said he will and I haven’t said he won’t. It’s all just talk now.”

  I poured hot water into the sink and scrubbed a pan until my wrist hurt. If only he’d forget about secret meetings and quick money. And then, as though providence had answered my prayers, Jesse awakened the next morning with a swollen jaw. His tooth throbbed with pain, so he canceled the meeting. The affliction kept him in bed for days, and he only slept with a heavy dose of laudanum.

  But when news came that President James Garfield had been wounded by an assassin’s bullet, Jesse rose from his bed. The story captivated him, along with the rest of the country. He read every article he could find about a man named Charles Guiteau who shot the president before he could step on the train to leave for a summer vacation.

  “By heaven,” Jesse told me, “even I have better protection than the president of this country does.”

  Much to my distress, the event energized him, and his health improved enough to reconvene his meeting. By mid-July, he had packed up to leave.

  “Don’t worry, Zee. I wouldn’t go if I didn’t think it would all work out. I promise no one will be hurt.”

  When he hugged me, I felt the jab of a pistol-shaped lump under his jacket and shuddered.

  Only a few days later, the newspapers heralded a bold train robbery in Winston. The story pushed aside President Garfield’s battle for life, as reporters gleefully announced the James gang had struck again. Apparently furious at the brazen act, Governor Thomas Crittenden gathered railroad executives to meet on the subject. Newspaper stories spread the outcome of their discussion like wildfire. The governor had offered ten thousand dollars each for the capture or killing of Frank and Jesse James. Ten thousand dollars! I went white with fear. For such an enormous sum, anyone could be tempted toward betrayal. A stranger, an enemy—a friend. Jesse had done many things wrong, but he was my husband, and I couldn’t stop loving him even if I wanted to.

  When Jesse made his way home, I begged him to take us far away. But as he always had, Jesse made light of my fears. Indeed, he appeared more stimulated than I’d seen him since the days right after the war ended.

  “My name’s in the papers again,” he said to me. “Just where it ought to be.”

  I wondered how quickly a fire burning so bright could be extinguished.

  In September, Jesse left with Dick Liddil riding beside him. I wasn’t surprised when the papers reported another train robbery, this time near Blue Cut. Governor Crittenden stormed all the way to Kansas City, determined to take down the James gang, along with anyone who dared offer them help. Bill Ryan’s trial would soon start and bring with it even more notoriety. I tried to talk to Jesse about the risks of his choices and how much I feared what might lay ahead. But Jesse refused to be swayed.

  Yet for some inexplicable reason, in November, he changed his mind. “You were right. It’s time to pack up. We’re moving to St. Joe.”

  Bone-weary, I went through the motions of packing and loading a wagon. Since our marriage, I’d lost count of the number of times we’d run from one place to another. I looked at my son’s face and almost cried.

  Tim had been happy in Kansas City, living near cousins with whom he could play. When I told him we were moving, he looked at me with heartrending questions in his eyes. “But, Mama, why must we go?”

  “Papa has business in St. Joseph. I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

  It tore my heart in two that Tim and Mary must live the lives of vagabonds, wandering from one place to the next, through no fault of their own. I remembered how I’d once spurned the conventional security of my parents’ home. Now I longed to set down roots. St. Joseph wasn’t the answer. We needed to find somewhere far away where we could live in peace. I stopped packing and went to Jesse.

  “The children are getting older and these constant moves hurt them. They hurt me, too. We need to find a place where we can stay put and have a normal life. I don’t think St. Joseph is right for us.”

  “You know very well how important it is to stay on the move. I know what I’m doing.” At the look on my face, his brusque tone softened. “I’ll tell you something, Zee. I know I can’t keep up the same pace forever. The only answer is to settle down someplace where we can be happy—when I have enough money to do it.”

  I wanted more than anything to believe him. Yet I remembered how many times before he’d made promises that had failed to materiali
ze. “This can’t go on, Jesse.” Tears burned behind my eyes. “I know something terrible will happen if you don’t stop what you’re doing now and consider your family.”

  “But I do consider my family.” A brow rose over one eye. “You’re never far from my thoughts. And you’ll soon see how much better life is going to be for us when everything you’ve asked for comes to pass.”

  Soon. That’s what he always said. My nerves were at a breaking point, and I feared uttering the caustic words on the tip of my tongue. Now even Frank had taken his family far away, moving east without speaking a single word of his plans to Jesse. When Jesse found out, he bristled with shock and anger. “Buck’s run out on me! Never thought that day would come.” His hands clenched into white-knuckled fists, and he turned away from me, unwilling to look me in the eye.

  In fact, most of Jesse’s old comrades were gone. Even Dick Liddil didn’t come around the way he used to. I had hoped such changes would persuade Jesse to consider the hope of new possibilities, but instead, he became more wary and began to fill his broken circle with new men.

  One of them was named Charlie Ford. I’d met him a few times and found his presence tolerable. He was a tall man, and young, with a jutting jaw that reminded me decidedly of a neighbor’s bulldog. Jesse liked him, and treated him with the same teasing affection he’d always given Frank.

  Charlie helped us move to a tiny rental house in St. Joseph.

  “It won’t be long until I find a better place,” Jesse said. But then he added something I didn’t expect. “I’m moving Charlie in with us.”

  “What? You mean until he can find a house of his own?”

  “No, I mean for him to stay. I’d like an extra gun. It will make my mind easier knowing he’s around to help keep an eye on things. I know how you think, sweetheart, and I’m telling you there’s no need to worry. Charlie’s a good friend. I trust him.”

  “But this house is too small for all of us.”

  “We’ll move to a bigger house soon as I can find one.” His reassurance, meant to placate me, made my shoulders slump in growing despair.