The Woman Who Loved Jesse James (17 page)

Thus was established a pattern for our married life those first few years. Frank and Jesse made frequent trips out of town. I no longer pretended these expeditions were entirely innocent, but unlike Annie, I had no desire to know the details of their activities until both men were home safe. Jesse handed over money and jewelry to me with the polite fiction that he’d been lucky at the track, or had made a profit on the sale of a horse. I thanked him and enjoyed spending his largesse, and refused to think at all of where the money had come from, or about the danger we all might be in.

The year ended with the hold-up of the Kansas Pacific Railroad in December, near Muncie, Kansas. The bandits blocked the tracks with old railroad ties, then signaled the train to stop well shy of this barrier. They robbed the Wells Fargo Express safe of $30,000.

This robbery led the governor of Kansas, Wells Fargo, and the Kansas Pacific Railroad to offer rewards for the capture of the robbers, said to be Frank and Jesse James, Cole and Bob Younger, and several others. When I read this in the papers, a chill swept over me. Times in Missouri were still hard, and while the threats of lawmen had no power to make Jesse’s friends or neighbors betray him, money had a different kind of power I wasn’t sure everyone could resist.

Jesse came into the room just then. “What’s the matter, Zee?” he asked. “You’re pale as a ghost.”

“What’s this about a reward?” I asked. “For ‘the capture of Jesse or Frank James, Cole or Bob Younger.’” I read.

“Idle posturing.” He waved away the words as if swatting a fly. “The railroads are furious we’ve taken back a little of their greedy gains. The local folks are cheering us on.”

“But a reward
. . .”

Jesse took the paper from me and pulled me close. “It doesn’t mean anything,” he said. “Nobody would have the nerve to ever collect it. They know they’d have to answer to us if they did. And no one wants to cross the James or Younger brothers.” He kissed the end of my nose. “You don’t have to worry about a thing. Let’s just be happy and enjoy our first Christmas as man and wife.”

He began to unbutton my dress, distracting me from thoughts of newspapers and rewards and danger of any kind. I saw through his manipulation, but I didn’t care. I didn’t want to think about these things, as if ignoring them would somehow keep us safe.

We celebrated Christmas with Frank and Annie, with a goose Annie prepared, which was over-cooked, but none of us mentioned it. We attended church together that evening, where we sang hymns and celebrated Christ’s birth day.

I had another reason for great happiness at this time. After so many years of hoping, I was finally expecting a child. Jesse was beside himself with joy at the news. When I told him, he waltzed me around the room, then immediately insisted I sit down with my feet up, lest I grow too tired.

I laughed at his concern, but I wasn’t without fears of my own. I was constantly sick to my stomach, unable to keep anything down. Jesse, worried that I would fall seriously ill while he was out and about during the day, paced the floor of our bedroom one evening in early January, fretting. I had spent most of the day in bed, too weak to even drag myself to the kitchen to make a cup of tea.

“Maybe you should go to your mother’s for a while,” he said. “So she can look after you.”

“I don’t want to leave you,” I protested. “Besides, Mother is too busy running her boarding house. The last thing she needs is someone else to look after.” At my mother’s house, I wouldn’t be the cherished prodigal daughter returning home to be lovingly pampered. I’d merely be Sister, another mouth to feed and body to house and child to claim another fraction of my mother’s scarce attention.

“Then we should both go to my mother’s. She and Charlotte can look after you well enough.”

I shuddered at the thought of facing my motherin-law while my emotions and my body were in such turmoil. “Your mother doesn’t even like me,” I said. “Why would she want to look after me now?”

“She’s mellowed a great deal since the wedding,” he said. “Now that she’s grown used to the idea of you as my wife. And she’s excited about a new grandchild.”

Still, I resisted the idea, until I became so weak I fainted, and came close to falling down the front steps. The incident terrified both me and Jesse, and he insisted I go to his mother.

I didn’t have the strength to resist. “Promise me you’ll join me there as soon as possible,” I said before I boarded the train.

“I promise.” He kissed my cheek. “Just remember,” he said. “You’re my wife and you’re going to be the mother of my child. Nothing Ma says can change that.”

His words gave me strength. Zerelda might not like me, but she could never take Jesse away from me now. Whatever battles she sought to wage didn’t matter, because we both knew she had already lost the war.

Jesse’s stepfather, Reuben, met me with the wagon and drove me to the farm. He was a docile, agreeable man, considered somewhat ‘simple’ since his near-death at the hands of Union militia during the war. His placidness suited Zerelda, allowing her to take command of the household without having to pretend to defer to him.

Zerelda greeted me stiffly but not unkindly when we arrived at the farm. “You’re looking well, Zee,” she said. “At least we know you come from good stock, and shouldn’t have too much trouble bearing children.” Zerelda herself had borne eight children by now. In addition to Jesse, Frank and their sister Susan from her first marriage, there had been another son, Robert, who died in infancy. With Reuben, she had Sarah, John Thomas, Fannie and the youngest, Archie.

Charlotte made more of a fuss over me. “You sit right down by the fire and put your feet up to keep them from swelling,” she said. “And I’ll bring you a warm tonic to settle your stomach and strengthen your blood.”

In addition to Zerelda, Reuben, the four younger children and Charlotte, the household included two more black servants—eighteen-year-old Ambrose and six-year-old Perry. Clel Miller was also a frequent visitor, often staying for dinner. Clel could always make me laugh with his stories and jokes.

As much as I’d dreaded this visit, I found myself enjoying it. I began to feel better, too. Charlotte and Zerelda prescribed soothing herbal teas for my nausea and cooked rich puddings and eggnogs to build my strength. The children vied to wait on me, and delighted in entertaining me with songs and skits.

Jesse joined us after a week, his arrival charging the atmosphere in the house with a contagious joy. He loved the farm where he had grown up, and he delighted in being with his younger half-brothers and sisters—fifteen year-old Sarah, thirteen-year-old John, ten-year-old Fannie and especially eight-year-old Archie. Named after Jesse’s friend Archie Clement, the baby of the family was a particular favorite.

Surrounded by the love of family, I could never remember being happier. When one is in the midst of it, happiness seems the strongest emotion imaginable, something so big and powerful nothing could defeat it. Yet it is the most fragile thing, like a dream made of spun sugar. In an instant it can shatter, destroyed by unimaginable fear and cruelty. In a single instance, so much is lost, and no matter how hard we try, we are never able to abandon ourselves to that joy again.

I awoke after midnight, to screams and wailing and the smell of smoke. At first I thought I was dreaming, and I struggled against the heavy lethargy of deep sleep.

The hollow ring of gunfire brought me to my senses, and my heart pounded as if trying to escape my chest. Fumbling for my wrapper in the darkness, I stumbled downstairs and into a scene out of my worst nightmares:

Charlotte, John and Perry were clustered around a bloody figure in front of the fireplace. With a sickening jolt, I realized the body was that of little Archie, drenched in blood, his face almost unrecognizable in its anguish.

I heard a deep moan from the other side of the room and turned to see Dr. Samuel tending to his wife. Zerelda’s eyes were closed, though her mouth was open, moaning in pain. She, too, was drenched in blood, but clearly alive. Ambrose, blood running from his scalp, struggled to carry the woman, who was half again his size, to her bed. A veil of gray smoke filled the room and the stench of blood and ash and charred flesh made my stomach roil.

But I didn’t have time to think of myself. I rushed to help. Ambrose, Dr. Samuel and I managed to get Zerelda to her bed on the other side of the room. Her right arm dangled limp, and she was in and out of consciousness. The sight of my motherin-law, a giant of a woman in both size and spirit, reduced to such a state shook me almost as much as the reality of Archie’s injuries.

But I had no time to mourn these shocks. I left Fanny to tend to her mother and turned my attention to Archie. As I approached, Charlotte’s eyes caught mine and she sadly shook her head. “He’s hurt mortal bad,” she said, and pulled a blanket up to his chin.

I began to cry, sobs tearing at my body. John, at thirteen already taller than me, put his arm around me and tried to comfort me. I had a sudden image of him eight years previous, little older than Archie, greeting me from the branches of the coffee bean tree. That he would try so hard now to be a man in the midst of so much suffering among those he loved made me weep all the more.

After seeing his wife safely in bed and determining there was nothing more he could do for his son, Reuben had run out into the yard and shouted for help. Neighbors, having heard the shouts, gunshots and commotion, began to arrive. Doctors were sent for, blankets were fetched. Someone wrapped me in one and ushered me to a chair in the corner, where I was given a cup of strong tea and a hot brick was placed beneath my feet. “What happened?” I asked, over and over, but it would be the next day before I was able to piece the whole story together:

Shortly after midnight, Ambrose, who had been sleeping in the kitchen with the other servants, woke to the sound of voices just outside the house. He smelled smoke, and got up and looked out the window and saw the shadows of men moving about. Before he could sound the alarm, the window shattered.

At first, Ambrose thought someone had fired into the house. Then he saw a large metal ball rolling about the kitchen floor.

By this time, the noise had awakened Reuben and Zerelda. Flames licked from beneath the wallboard of the house. Reuben tore at the burning wood, trying to put out the fire, while Zerelda ran into the kitchen. She found the metal ball, which was also burning now, and tried to kick it out the door, but it proved too heavy. Reuben rushed in and scooped up the burning ball and carried it to the fireplace in the front room. Zerelda and the servants beat at the burning siding with quilts and succeeded in smothering most of the flames.

By this time, everyone in the house was awake but me. The children gathered with their parents and servants around the fireplace, wondering what to do next. They sensed there were still people outside of the house, but they didn’t know how many, or if they were heavily armed. They were debating what to do when the metal ball in the fireplace exploded.

Fragments on the bomb struck Reuben and Ambrose in the head, but the glancing blows only momentarily stunned them. A larger chunk caught Zerelda in the arm, and she collapsed, screaming.

But it was Archie, standing closest to the fireplace, who bore the brunt of the explosion. Burning metal fragments ripped through his little body. He lingered for several hours, but from the first, there was little hope.

After the neighbors began to arrive, Archie was carried to Zerelda’s bed so that she could say goodbye. I had always thought her a strong woman, hard even, and fearless. But that night I saw a different side of her, as vulnerable as any mother could be. Her face was a mask of grief as she stroked Archie’s hair and cradled his limp body. “I thought it would be Frank or Jesse I would have to lose first,” she whispered, her eyes blurred with tears. “I know the risks they take and I was prepared to accept their fate. But Archie
. . .”
She kissed her son’s forehead and rested her cheek against his. “My baby. He never did anything to hurt anybody. Why should he be taken from me?”