The Woman Who Loved Jesse James (12 page)

When the deputies were gone, everyone turned to look at me. “You want to tell us what that was all about?” Robert asked.

“How should I know?” I got up and filled the kettle and set it on the stove.

“They said they tracked that horse here,” Robert said.
“Did
Jesse come by here last night after we all went to bed?”

“No!” I kept my back to them, afraid they’d read the truth in my eyes.

“If they’d had any real proof, they would have produced it,” Thomas said. “They’re probably going around to all Jesse and Frank’s friends and relatives and fishing for anything that might implicate them in a crime.”

“They won’t find anything,” Robert said. “Even if people know anything, they won’t tell any lawmen. No matter what Frank and Jesse have done, they’re seen as heroes by a lot of folks.”

“Heroes?” I turned to him, puzzled. “Because of their service in the war?”

“That, and because they’ve taken a stand against the Reconstructionists and the Northern-run banks and railroads who’ve made it hard for ordinary people—especially former Secesh families—to get ahead,” Robert said. “One of the reasons the bushwhackers have gotten away with their crimes so far is that people have been willing to cover for them.” He gave me a hard look, as if accusing me of doing some covering of my own. I looked away.

“Why pick on Jesse and Frank at all?” Sallie asked.

“Because they’ve been a thorn in the side of the folks in power around here since during the war,” Robert said.

My mother had remained silent all this time, but when I turned from the stove I found her eyes fixed on me. “I want you to write to Jesse and tell him you won’t see him anymore,” she said.

“No!” Tears stung my eyes at the very thought. “I can’t believe you’d even ask that. You’ve known Jesse since he was born—are you going to condemn him now on the say-so of two detectives who want to make him and his brother scapegoats?”

“Whether Jesse did this or not, he’s a man who was born looking for trouble,” she said. “I don’t like to see you involved in any of it.”

“You’re wrong,” I said. “Jesse is a good man. You’ll see.”

My attitude was defiant, but inside, I was terrified—both for Jesse and for myself. I thought I knew him almost as well as I knew myself, but now doubts crowded up against my faith. Could he have really murdered a man in cold blood, as the detectives had charged?

I wanted to write to him, demanding to know the truth. But I feared the detectives might intercept the mail and anything I said might incriminate Jesse, whether he was guilty or not.

So I bided my time, determined to question him at the first opportunity.

Over the next few weeks,
the newspapers were filled with news of the robbery in Gallatin. The suddenness and violence of the crime and the death of the cashier, one John Sheets, left the country in shock. The end of the war was supposed to mean an end to the violence in our state, but our reprieve had been short-lived. Perhaps there were those who would not accept that the war had ended and there were no more battles to be fought. Or maybe men who for so many years had lived with daily fighting and bloodshed could not give up the habit so easily.

Several former bushwhackers were arrested for the crime; two were lynched by an angry mob in Warrensburg, who stormed the jail where they were held and hung them from a nearby tree. Like Archie Clement, these men were afforded no trial or chance to argue their innocence. The very fact that they had once been bushwhackers—that they had once fought for the safety of some of the very men who now condemned them, albeit on the losing side of the battle—was enough to earn them a death sentence. That Jesse could easily have been one of the two made me sick with fear.

A week after the visit from the deputies,
my mother sent me to the general store for thread and a bottle of the molasses and lemon cough syrup the store’s owner, Mr. Riker, mixed for his customers. The cough syrup contained a number of ‘special’ ingredients Mr. Riker refused to reveal to anyone, and was considered the most effective remedy for any kind of catarrh.

Unfortunately, Mr. Riker was out when I called at the store. In his place behind the front counter stood his wife, a pinched-faced woman who looked at everyone as if she’d just heard something bad about them. She collected gossip the way some people collect stamps, delighting in taking out each choice bit of news and showing it off to whoever would listen.

“I see the sheriff hasn’t been back to arrest you yet,” she said by way of greeting when I approached the counter.

“I’ve done nothing to be arrested
for
,” I said, and immediately regretted the words. Mrs. Riker took any sort of denial as sure proof of guilt.

“Associating with that thief and murderer, Jesse James, is reason enough in my book,” she said. “No telling what awful secrets about him you’re keeping from the authorities. If I was your mother, I’d lock you in your room until you’d gotten over this nonsensical infatuation with that demon in pants.”

If you were my mother, I’d poke out my eardrums to keep from having to listen to you
, I thought. “Mother would like a bottle of Mr. Riker’s cough remedy,” I said, as sweet as pie. Nothing infuriated Mrs. Riker more than people who wouldn’t rise to her bait.

“I’ll have to get it in the back,” she complained.

“I don’t mind waiting.”

She made a hrrmphing sound, then darted into the back room. I wandered over to the thread and selected a spool of brown cotton, then studied an attractive display of hat pins. They were the large, ornate kind, easily ten inches long, with colored crystals at the ends, and fancy gold-colored finials. The kind I’d always wanted, but could never afford.

I glanced toward the front counter. Mrs. Riker was taking her time back there. She was probably brewing a cup of tea and laughing to herself about keeping me waiting.

I looked at the hat pins again. After all the abuse I’d taken from that woman, she owed me something. A fancy hat pin wouldn’t even the score, but it would help. Heart pounding, I snatched a gold and blue one from the pin cushion in which they were displayed, then searched for somewhere to hide it. The dress I wore had no pockets, and the pin would never fit in my reticule.

“I didn’t have one of the regular blue bottles, so I put it in a canning jar. Don’t suppose it makes any difference, anyway.” Mrs. Riker’s voice grew louder as she neared the front of the store once more.

Hastily, I jammed the pin in my hat, narrowly missing my scalp. I hurried to the front counter and thrust the spool of thread at the old woman. “I’ll take this, too.”

“I suppose you want me to put it on your bill,” she grumbled.

“Yes, thank you.”

I waited as she pulled out an oversized, cardboard-backed ledged and flipped through the pages, searching for our family name. She never even looked at me. I held my head up, silently daring her to notice me—and my new hat pin.

“What are you looking so smug about?” Mrs. Riker glared at me.

“It’s a beautiful day,” I said. “Why shouldn’t I be happy?” I scarcely breathed. Any moment now, she’d notice the pin. She’d scream that I was a thief. I’d make some excuse about having tried the pin and forgotten it was there, but she’d be sure to tell the story to everyone she knew, further harming my already damaged reputation.

She grumbled something under her breath, but her eyes never lifted above the level of my chin. I gathered up my purchases. “You have a wonderful day,” I said.

I resisted the urge to run out of the building, but I couldn’t keep the satisfied smile from my face. I knew I ought to feel guilty about stealing the hat pin; instead I felt as giddy as the time Esme and I had sampled too much of her uncle’s homemade elderberry wine.

Was this what Jesse felt when he’d robbed those banks? This elation? This
power?
I hugged my arms to my chest and practically skipped along.

My euphoria lasted until I entered my mother’s kitchen. She turned from the stove and with one look knew something was up. She scrutinized me, her gaze fixing on the hat pin. “Where did you get that hat pin?” she asked.

I had the decency to blush, but having already sinned in stealing the pin, I saw no reason not to add to my transgressions with a lie. “Jesse gave it to me,” I said. “The last time he visited.”

“I haven’t seen you wear it before,” she said.

“No. I’ve been saving it for a special occasion.”

The lines along either side of her mouth deepened. “There’s nothing special about today.”

“It’s a beautiful day, though. Isn’t that special enough?” I turned and glided from the room. I promised myself I wouldn’t make a habit of taking things that weren’t mine, but I wasn’t sorry I’d indulged the whim this once. Whatever happened to me for the rest of my life, I would never forget this wonderful feeling of power and freedom.

“Then it shouldn’t make any difference what I do apart from you. As long as I’m loving and faithful to you—as long as I always do right by you—nothing else should matter.”

“What are you saying? That you’re guilty?”

He compressed his lips into a hard line. “I have good reasons for everything I’ve done. I’m asking you to trust that. It’s better for everyone if you don’t know what I do. That way you’ll never be able to give away information to the wrong people. If you don’t know where I’m at or what I’m up to, you won’t have any reason to worry.”

“I always worry about you when we’re apart. Not knowing won’t change that.”

“You never know. You might worry more if you knew the details.”

“I don’t understand. If you love me, you ought to be able to tell me anything.”

“It’s because I love you that I
don’t
tell you.” He pulled me close. “When we’re married, it will be my job to protect you. That’s a job I intend to take seriously.”

“We’re not married yet.”

“As good as, in my eyes, and I won’t shirk my responsibility.”

His words sent a shiver down my spine. I thought of Mrs. Peabody, who’d been left alone to her horrible fate. No matter how much time he spent apart from me, I believed Jesse
would
always protect me. He wasn’t a weak man, like Sheriff Henry had proved to be, and his love wasn’t false. I knew this in my heart as surely as I knew my own name.

How could any woman walk away from a man like that?

Still, I was wounded that he wouldn’t confide in me. “You’re saying you won’t tell me anything.”

“Only what you need to know.”

I wanted to protest that it wasn’t fair that he got to decide what I needed or not, but he was kissing my throat, his hands stroking my breasts, and I lost all will to argue.

But it wasn’t Jesse’s touch that persuaded me so much as my own heart. I’d made my decision when I’d lied to the deputies and to my family. With those few words, I’d crossed a line; it was too late now to go back.

I loved Jesse because of who he was and in spite of it. If he had a dark side to his character, it was no darker than the shadows within my own soul. I had been raised to be a good girl, a genteel lady who would never do wrong. But the mold had always chafed. Unlike Jesse, I couldn’t ride with a guerrilla band or pull a gun on those who tried to confine me to a role I didn’t want. I was limited to smaller rebellions; loving Jesse was one of those, one I refused to ever give up.