I am Mrs. Jesse James

by Pat Wahler

  33

  Tim named his new puppy Buster. The animal soon followed him around like a small furry shadow. Tim kept bits of food hidden in his pocket and gave them to Buster every time the pup lifted his paws and begged. I’d never before owned a dog and found myself drawn to the tiny creature even though he chewed on any item he came near. When I scolded him, Buster licked my hand, and the sweet scent of puppy breath soothed my annoyance. But the best part of having a puppy was the sound of Tim’s laughter. No longer did he stare out the window, and that alone made Buster worth any number of ruined shoes.

  The atmosphere between the Ford brothers and myself wasn’t so settled. During each meal and whenever I had to be near Charlie or Bob, I kept my head down and spoke little, feeling a palpable tension between us. Jesse attempted to gloss over my frostiness and filled the silence with more banter than usual. But despite what he wanted, I found it impossible to hide my feelings. Having the Ford brothers in my home was far worse than the discomfort of a blackberry seed stuck between my front teeth.

  For the first time in my life, I gnawed at my fingernails until they were ragged.

  Charlie studied Jesse and seemed to hang on his every word, but Bob averted his eyes, and bayed a nervous chuckle that grated on my tightly wound nerves. I tried to make Jesse understand my feelings, but again he dismissed my worries with a laugh.

  “You sound like Ma. When she met Charlie and Bob, her face looked like a pair of Federals had just stepped into her house. She told me I ought to give them both the boot.”

  “And why would you not heed us if both your mother and I have the same opinion?”

  He slipped his arm around me. “I know how to judge men. Charlie is true as can be, though I’ll admit Bob has a sneaky side. I intend to keep a close eye on both of them. Haven’t I always been careful before?” He waited for my nod which I gave him just as he expected. “Well, there’s no reason to doubt me now. Just keep in mind what we both want—our own ranch, far away from here.”

  But I couldn’t still the voice within me. “I know your soul, Jesse, and you know mine. Over the years, so many things have happened. I beg you not to add to that list. I don’t want anyone else hurt.”

  “As you say,” he quipped with a shrug, impatience evident in his face as he walked away.

  Jesse’s once-ramrod straight posture had curved. Whether from time in the saddle or the cumulative effect of so many injuries, I didn’t know. Years had roughened him into someone hard and as unyielding as granite. I wanted to believe he meant what he said about settling down, but reminded myself how many times I’d heard the same words from him. Long ago I’d been so sure of my decisions. Why was I so uncertain now?

  A letter from my sister Nannie that I’d thrown on the table waited for me. I sank into a chair to read it.

  Josie,

  Duty compels me to send you this message. I’ve had long words with Charles, and he has agreed. With things as they are, we believe it best if you and the children come here to stay. There is no sense in risking your life, or theirs. You needn’t worry over your financial distress. Charles and I are quite comfortable and able to provide what you need.

  With affection,

  Nancy

  Her offer, colored with the slightest tint of disdain, shook me and forced me to study my situation as if seeing it for the first time. Jesse fed on his association with men like the Ford brothers and the notoriety and fast money he made from outlawry. Like a thunderbolt the truth shook me. My husband careened toward ambitions only the dark hand of death would stop. The revelation sent my heart thudding and made me toss and turn in my bed all night.

  In the morning, I sat on the porch with Tim and Mary. Tim held Buster while Mary tried to smooth the wriggling pup’s fur with her own hairbrush. I watched them and wondered what I could do to change the course of our lives.

  If I took the children and fled to Nannie, accepting whatever charity she chose to give me, Tim and Mary would never see their father again. Nor would I. Jesse would lose the only anchor he had, along with any hope of salvation. My heart pounded into a drumbeat of purpose. I took a deep breath of early spring air and made a decision.

  I would do what I’d never done before. I would tell Jesse he had to choose. He could pick me and the children or continue to live the life of an outlaw. The thought of such a confrontation made my stomach roil, but if my husband preferred the Fords and fast money over his wife and children, then I no longer had reason to stay.

  Butterfly wings fluttered in my stomach. I tried to soothe myself with the notion of Jesse sending Charlie and Bob away. We’d take the children and leave for Nebraska, Texas, or even Mexico. With new names, we could start over in a place where no one spoke of their past or asked questions of their neighbors.

  My thoughts bobbed in my brain like a cork vest struggling to keep a drowning woman from slipping underwater. I looked across the yard to where Jesse leaned against the barn, his face animated, hands moving rapidly as he spoke to the Fords.

  With a course of action in place, my chin lifted. The challenge would lie in finding a way to speak with Jesse without Charlie and Bob listening nearby. I couldn’t shame him in front of his comrades, and the Fords seldom let Jesse out of their sight, huddling and speaking in low tones that stopped whenever the children or I came near. The three of them had made a habit of leaving the house after dinner and often didn’t return until long after I’d fallen asleep. If I woke in the morning to find the Fords sleeping on the floor next to my own bed, it wouldn’t have surprised me one bit.

  I smoothed dust from my skirt. In the morning, right after breakfast, I would tell Jesse I had to speak with him alone. Then I would draw the line, and it would be up to him to decide which way he would go.

  If only I hadn’t decided to wait.

  I rose early to put an iron skillet on the stove and heat the bacon lard until it sizzled, then sliced potatoes and dropped them into the hot grease. When bacon lard began to sizzle, I sliced potatoes and dropped them into the hot grease. The fat hissed and spattered as my mind ran over what I would say to Jesse, practicing each word as my papa had done before Sunday morning service.

  From the parlor, I heard the sound of boots on the floor, a chuckle, and muffled conversation. Good. The scent of frying potatoes had roused them all. I stirred the pan and dreamed of what life might be like on the Nebraska prairie or near the beach in Galveston.

  Tim wandered into the kitchen, followed, as always, by Mary. She carried her baby doll in one hand and rubbed her eyes with a small fist.

  Tim sniffed the air. “Good morning, Mama.” “Good morning, my darlings. Are you very hungry?” Tim sniffed again. “Yes, my stomach is growling like Buster does.”

  The puppy twined around his legs, nose up to capture the scent of food.

  “I hungry, too, Mama,” Mary added in her sweet, little voice.

  “It’s almost ready. Tim, will you be my best helper and get the coffee mill out for me? Put it on the table, and then get some plates. Mary, please help your brother.”

  Mary dutifully went to Tim’s side. Buster followed Tim, his tail curved up and wagging so fast it was a blur. Mary laughed.

  A tune I hadn’t thought of in a long while popped into my head. I began to sing the words in a soft voice. “Oh, Susannah, oh, don’t you cry for me, for I come from Alabama with a banjo on my knee.”

  “I like that song, Mama. It feels happy,” Tim said with a sleepy smile.

  “Yes, it is a happy tune. I used to sing it a long time ago.” The men’s feet scuffled across the wooden planks of the parlor, and I called out to them, “Breakfast will be ready soon.”

  Voices murmured, and I heard Jesse chuckle. Then someone dragged a chair across the floor.

  I picked up a dishcloth, folded it, and lifted the hot skillet off the stove. Bowl. I needed a bowl.

  “Tim, will you—”

  A deafening boom made the walls shake. I dropped the skillet back onto the stove and glanc
ed at the children. A gunshot. Someone had fired a gun in my house!

  “Tim, stay here with Mary.”

  Mouth drier than an August day, I raced to the parlor and then gasped. Jesse lay on the floor, face up, next to an overturned chair, his eyes wide open. A dark sticky pool of blood under his head grew larger with each second. The scent of gunpowder filled the room as Charlie and Bob stood at the open door with wide eyes, breathing heavily, as if they’d just run a race.

  I dropped to my knees next to my husband and shouted at the Fords, “What have you done?” I turned long enough to see Bob run out the door, but Charlie looked down at me with a strange expression on his face.

  “A pistol went off accidentally.”

  I lifted my head long enough to spit out the words, “Accidentally? It went off on purpose. You coward!”

  Charlie’s face grew pale, and he bolted from the house after his brother. I lifted Jesse’s head onto my lap. Using the cloth still clutched in my hand, I tried to wipe blood that flowed from the back of his head. He made no sound, even though his lips moved. His eyes were open, but as I watched, the light in them faded until they became glassy and cold as marble.

  Tim and Mary ran toward me, Buster at their heels. At the sight of their father’s body on the floor, Tim hiccoughed out the question of a child. “What happened to my papa?”

  But I couldn’t answer them. Instead, the room filled with a high-pitched wail that emanated from the depths of my soul. I keened and wept and rocked with Jesse’s body clutched to my chest until my throat grew raw. Then I closed my eyes.

  Finally, I turned to see my children, wide-eyed and staring at the bloody scene, crying in great gulping sobs. Tim clutched the puppy and Mary held her baby doll as if those were the only things in the world that mattered. Their grief and fear brought me to my senses. I put a hand on Jesse’s cheek in a feather’s touch, kissed his lips, then placed his head gently back on the floor.

  When I stood, the room spun around me. To steady myself, I touched the wall, then jerked away my hand from the spatters of my husband’s blood. “Tim, you must help me. Take your sister and go to the sleeping room. I’ll be there in a moment.”

  His little shoulders shaking, he led Mary away. The puppy, tail tucked between its legs, followed them. I kneeled again and pulled my skirts away from the blood puddling on the floor to focus my mind on checking Jesse’s pockets. He had nothing more than a few dollars and the lucky penny he’d carried for so long. I slid both down the bodice of my dress, then I went to the children.

  Tim and Mary were still crying, arms wrapped around each other. Buster sat on the floor at their feet, whimpering. Numbly, I pulled my children close, and tears trailed down my cheeks, wetting their still sleep-ruffled hair. We stayed that way until our weeping ended and my body grew numb.

  I heard footsteps pounding through the parlor. A pause, an exclamation, and then the bedroom door swung open. Two men stood in the doorway and stared in. The bearded, gray-haired man spoke first. “I’m Mr. Heddens, the coroner, and this is Marshal Craig. Who are you, ma’am?”

  I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. I swallowed and tried again. “Mrs. Howard.”

  “We got word of a shooting and came right over. Can you tell us what happened here today, Mrs. Howard?”

  “My husband has been shot.”

  “Who shot him?”

  “There were two boys staying with us. They did it.”

  The marshal’s eyes narrowed. “Why would they do such a thing?”

  “I don’t know. Oh, my God, I don’t know!”

  Hearing the words spoken aloud made the unthinkable real. The numbness evaporated, and I choked out a desperate sob. The children clung to me and wept anew.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Howard, but you must compose yourself and tell me what happened.” Mr. Heddens crossed his arms.

  Before I regained enough control to speak, another man, this one with a badge pinned to his jacket, came into the room. He whispered to the marshal before he turned his gaze to me.

  Marshal Craig pointed at the children. “My deputy will take your kids outside. I need to speak to you alone.”

  I rose, but my knees wobbled so that I couldn’t stand. I steadied myself and sat on the bed. My whole body shook, as I stared down at my hands, still covered with Jesse’s blood.

  Marshal Craig stepped closer and stood over me. “I am the lawfully sworn marshal of this county, and you are obliged to be completely truthful with me.” Despite his gruff tone, he took my blood-stained fingers into his hands. “The boys you spoke of, the ones living here with you, are Charlie and Bob Ford, aren’t they? They’re out in the yard right now, surrendering, and they’ve told us everything about your husband.” He dropped my hand. “Your name isn’t Mrs. Howard, is it? And the man lying dead on the parlor floor isn’t Mr. Howard.” Eyes hard, he stared at me. “Your husband is the outlaw Jesse James. And you, ma’am, are his wife.”

  I thought of Jesse dead in the next room and wanted to scream and weep and rend my clothes like Job. My hopes for the future were gone, disappeared like a wisp of smoke in open air. I couldn’t pretend a minute more. Taking a deep breath, I stood and straightened my spine. My eyes met Marshal Craig’s squarely.

  “Yes, sir,” I said, my voice as even as I could make it. “I am Mrs. Jesse James.”

  34

  I peeked out the window. Despite an approaching wall of dark clouds, people were still gathered outside our house, as they’d done all day since the shots were fired. Even after the undertaker removed Jesse’s body in a shining horse-drawn wagon of death, it wasn’t enough to satisfy public curiosity. A few faces in the crowd were familiar to me, but most were strangers, standing in groups to whisper and point. They reminded me of dark buzzards circling a carcass, waiting to feed.

  Small footsteps pattered behind me, and I turned to see Tim. His cheeks were still damp with tears, but he had the same determined look I’d often seen on his father’s face.

  “Are the people who hurt my papa out there?”

  “No, dear. The men who hurt Papa are in jail now,” I said, caressing his hair.

  “What will happen to them?”

  “I don’t know, son. That will be up to the law.”

  I thanked heaven for the kindness of our neighbor, Mrs. Terrel, who would spare the children the next ordeal. An inquest had been scheduled for three o’clock, only hours after Jesse’s death, and Mrs. Terrel, our next-door neighbor who’d brought us an apple-cinnamon pie after we moved in, sat in the kitchen. She offered to watch the children for me, and I accepted her gesture with gratitude.

  I’d discarded my blood-stained dress in a heap and scrubbed my hands until they were raw. Yet the bleak aura of death still clung to me. The sheriff insisted his deputy drive me to the courthouse. There were so many people surrounding my home that he feared for my safety.

  Thunder rumbled, and a gust of wind fluttered the white sheer curtains at my window just as the deputy arrived.

  I walked outside and drops of rain splattered on my hat. Men scribbling on pads of paper shouted questions. Jesse would have pegged them at once as reporters. I ignored them and hurried into the buggy as rain sliced down in earnest, hammering on the roof. We lurched forward and the horse’s hooves splashed through muddy puddles while I stared at the downpour. When we reached the courthouse, the deputy helped me down and shouldered people away as we climbed the courthouse steps.

  The courtroom was packed. Someone pointed at a chair and bade me sit. Still in shock by the morning’s events, I followed his direction without a word while everyone in the room stared at me. I’d just taken my seat when a deputy brought in Charlie and Bob. They strutted down the aisle, Charlie with his shoulders back and Bob thrusting his chest out like a peacock. My vision blurred with tears. We had sheltered and fed those two men. My husband had treated them as friends, and his trust had cost him his life. Neither Charlie nor Bob were man enough to meet my eyes.

  Coroner
Heddens had me stand and raise my trembling hand, swearing to tell the truth. Then he walked across the floor, tenting his fingers. “What is your name, ma’am?”

  “Mrs. Jesse James.”

  “Some folks think Jesse James was killed a few years back. They aren’t sure who the man is at the undertaker’s. We need to be certain he’s properly identified.” Mr. Heddens cleared his throat and proceeded to ask questions about me, my marriage, and the places we had lived. He inquired about my husband’s wounds, the missing tip of his finger, and the names we’d used in the past. The questions seemed to go on endlessly until the final one.

  “Who is the man lying at the undertaker’s right now?”

  “Jesse James,” I said, and put a hand on my throbbing forehead. “I’m dizzy. May I please step down now?”

  He coughed and rustled papers on the table before coming to take my arm and help me to a chair where other court officials sat. One of them fanned my face, and another brought a glass of cool water for me to sip.

  Once the men were satisfied I wouldn’t collapse, the coroner called Bob Ford to the witness stand. Someone had given Bob a new set of clothes. His fine gray coat and green-striped trousers added to his smirk of self-satisfaction. I had little stomach to see Bob’s traitorous face, but need compelled me to hear the loathsome story for myself.

  Bob reported his name and age and acquaintance with my husband.

  Then the coroner went to the heart of the murder. “So you are the one who shot the man who called himself John Davis Howard?”

  “Sir, I shot Jesse James, for that was his true name. I did it when he took off his guns and climbed on a chair to straighten a picture that hung on the wall.”

  “When did you decide to do this deed, Mr. Ford?”

  “After meeting with Governor Crittenden. He told me if I helped capture or kill Jesse James, I’d be given a large reward.”

  “And what was your answer to the governor?”

  “I told him I thought I could do it,” Bob said. “He promised a pardon for Dick Liddil, my brother, and me if we fixed it so Jesse James could never rob or kill anyone again.”