The Woman Who Loved Jesse James (31 page)

When Jesse returned shortly before supper, I told him of Mr. Twitchell’s visit. “Is it true you haven’t paid the rent?” I asked.

“I’ve had more important things to see to,” he said. “He’ll have his money soon enough.”

“He seemed very upset,” I said. “He threatened ‘legal proceedings.’ Does that mean eviction?” I shuddered at the memory of other families I’d seen, with all their belongings piled at the curb, their shame made public.

“I’ll take care of it,” Jesse said, his expression grim.

I told myself I needn’t worry. Jesse had always provided for us before; he would do so now. But in the back of my mind, I made lists of everything I might sell to come up with the necessary funds.

Jesse’s response was to pack a bag the next morning. “Where are you going?” I asked as I watched him add a clean shirt and vest to the carpetbag he used for traveling.

“I thought I’d ride out to see my cousins, George and Wood Hite.” He added two pairs of socks to the bag. “They owe me a little money. I think it’s time I collected the debt.”

I had never cared for the Hites: to me they were lazy, slovenly lay-abouts who took advantage of Jesse’s good will. Younger than Jesse, they looked up to him, and in flusher times he never hesitated to give them cash when they needed it. I doubted they’d have any now to give him in return, but if anyone could get the money out of them, it would be Jesse. Though I hated for him to leave me, I was relieved that Jesse was doing something that would get us out of trouble with Mr. Twitchell and allow us to stay in our house.

Annie rode over the next morning, ostensibly to invite me and the children to stay with her and Frank while Jesse was away. I accepted her invitation, grateful for the company her family would provide mine, and also thinking this would make it more difficult for Mr. Twitchell to find me and harass me about the back rent.

But I soon learned hospitality wasn’t the only reason for Annie’s visit.

“Where has Jesse gone?” she asked as we sat on the back porch, sipping tea and watching the children play. The trees were just beginning to show gold and the air held the underlying chill of approaching winter.

“He went to visit his cousins, the Hites,” I said.

Annie frowned into her teacup. “I never cared for that bunch. The old man’s wife makes eyes at everything in trousers.”

“It’s just gossip.” But I’d heard the rumors, too. Major Hite’s second wife was young enough to be his daughter, and pretty in the way an over-blown rose or over-ripe peach can be pretty.

“I don’t really care about her, one way or another,” Annie said. “But before he left, Jesse stopped by the farm and he and Frank argued. Frank won’t tell me what the argument was about.”

“Well
I
certainly can’t tell you.” Maybe Jesse had tried to borrow money from his brother. But that didn’t seem a likely source of an argument. I was sure Frank would have lent any money he had to help his brother.

“I think they argued because Jesse wants Frank to rob another bank or railroad with him and Frank refused,” Annie said.

“Why would you think that? Why would Jesse want to do that?” But I knew one reason. Had Jesse seen a return to his old ways as the solution to our money problems? Was the story about collecting a debt from his cousins merely a ruse to calm my fears?

“Because Jesse isn’t satisfied unless his name is in the papers,” Annie said. “He’d grown used to being the center of attention and now that he isn’t anymore, he can’t stand it.”

“That’s not true,” I protested. Jesse had as much vanity as the next man, but he was an adult with a family to look after—not the pouting child she apparently saw.

“It
is
true, Zee and you know it.” Her voice became strident. “He went from being Zerelda’s spoiled little boy to Bloody Bill Anderson and Archie Clement’s protégée, to the most talked-about outlaw in the country. Never mind that Frank is the one who introduced him to Bloody Bill in the first place. That it was Frank who put up with Zerelda’s harangues while she doted on Jesse. Frank planned their first robberies. His strategy is what made them successful. And Frank’s the one who led them to safety after the disaster at Northfield.”

I stared at her, amazed at this outpouring. Annie had never before given any indication she harbored all this ill-will toward my husband. I held up one hand to stop the flow of words. “Annie, are you saying you and Frank are
jealous
of Jesse? Because the reporters wrote about him more than they did Frank?”

She sat back in her chair, visibly gathering herself. “I’m trying to tell you that Frank made Jesse what he is today,” she said calmly. “If he’s thinking of trying to rob railroads and banks and stagecoaches again, without Frank along, then he’ll never succeed. And if he thinks he can persuade Frank to join him again, I won’t let that happen.”

“I don’t see how you’re going to stop him. Or Frank.” I was sure my brother-in-law loved his wife, but Frank had a mean temper when riled and I couldn’t imagine he’d allow anyone—much less a woman who’d promised to honor and obey—to tell him what to do. “Even if this is true—what do you expect me to do about it?”

“You could look through Jesse’s things, for some clue as to what his plans are.”

“I could never do that!”

She gave me an appraising look. “You don’t really believe Jesse has never lied to you, do you?” she asked.

“All I know is that
I’ve
never lied to him.” I stood and collected our teacups. Hers was only half-empty, but I was more than ready for this conversation to end. “Maybe it would be better if the children and I stayed here while Jesse’s away,” I said.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I already have the spare room ready for you. Frank will come by tonight with the wagon to fetch you.” She followed me to the sink and laid a hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry if I upset you, Zee,” she said. “But we aren’t naïve girls anymore. We have children to think about, as well as our own safety. Our men may be reckless, but we can’t afford to be. And we can’t afford to be ignorant of what they’re up to, no matter how much they try to keep us in the dark.”

I nodded, though I wasn’t sure I entirely agreed with her. After my one and only interrogation by Pinkerton agents, Jesse had told me I was better off not knowing about his activities, and I had believed him. Ignorance freed me from worry and guilt and a host of other uncomfortable emotions.

After Annie left,
I put the children down for a nap and retreated to the bedroom Jesse and I shared, thinking I might lie down for a while myself. But Annie’s words had aroused my curiosity. The idea that Jesse’s belongings might provide a clue to his thoughts and intentions wouldn’t leave me.

Curiosity won out over guilt and I got up off the bed and went to the tall wooden wardrobe that sat in the corner. Opening the doors, I stared at the neat rows of finely tailored suits and starched shirts. I felt in the pockets of the bearskin coat and probed the lining of the suit jackets, but they yielded nothing beyond a silver cigar cutter, twenty-three cents in change and a postage stamp.

At the bottom of the wardrobe sat an old Army trunk. I knelt and dragged this out onto the floor. It was locked, but I knew where Jesse kept the key. I fetched it from the cracked shaving mug on top of the wardrobe and fit it to the lock.

The heavy aroma of unsmoked cigars, horehound candy and old newspapers wafted up from the trunk like the mist of a genie rising from a lamp. I shuffled through the contents. Jesse had his own stash of newspaper clippings, most of them written by John Newman Edwards, praising Jesse as a hero of the South. I smiled, imagining Jesse pouring over these homages.

Setting the papers aside, I explored further into the trunk. I pulled out a tiny brass replica of the Corliss Engine, which bore the legend,
Souvenir of the Centennial Exhibition.
Next was a gold pocket watch engraved with the name J. A. Burbank.

The next item of interest was a small cardboard folder. Opening it, I stared at a photograph of our twin sons, Gould and Montgomery. Side by side in a single cradle, dressed in white gowns, they appeared to be peacefully sleeping. But I knew when this photo was taken they were already dead.

My throat tightened and I swallowed hard against the knot of tears, as much for the dear departed infants themselves as for Jesse, who must have stared at this picture for a long time, wrestling with his private grief, before hiding it away among his other treasures.

At the very bottom of the trunk, tied up in ribbon, was a thick packet of letters—all the correspondence I’d sent to him during our long courtship. I raised the packet to my nose and sniffed the faint reminder of the rosewater I’d sprinkled on the pages—my girlish idea of the appropriate gesture for a love letter.

The knowledge that Jesse had kept these letters touched me, and brought a renewed rush of guilt over snooping into his private possessions this way. I shut the trunk and returned it to the back of the wardrobe.

My detective work had yielded little of interest, but this was reassuring. Instead of hidden jewels or bundles of cash, I’d discovered Jesse’s true treasures. Instead of secret maps or outlines of nefarious plots, I’d found pictures of his children and love letters from his wife. Jesse knew what was important in his world. I would hold on to that knowledge, and keep the faith that he would do what was right for me and for our children.

Not long after the children and I
moved in with Frank and Annie, I came down to breakfast one morning
to find everyone in an uproar. “I knew your husband was up to no good and now he’s proved it,” Annie said as I passed her on my way to the breakfast table.

“I’ve met some fools in my time, but I believe none of them is a bigger damn fool than my brother,” Frank said as I took my seat across from him. He handed me a copy of that morning’s paper.

I stared at the headline “Train Robbery at Glendale by the Notorious Jesse James.”

My heart felt made of lead. I stared at Frank. “Maybe they made some mistake?”

“Keep reading.” He nodded to the paper. “There isn’t much doubt it was Jesse.”

The hold-up had all the earmarks of a Jesse James raid—signaling the train to stop, the robbers boarding the train and escorting the engineer and fireman away from the engine at gunpoint, then proceeding straight to the express car. The courtesy and bravado of the leader, described as ‘handsome and without fear.’ The departure of the robbers in a hail of gunfire, riding into the distance on “swift, handsome thoroughbreds.”

Even this might not have convinced me, but Jesse had left no room for anyone to doubt that he was responsible for this crime. He’d left behind a press release identifying himself and the members of his gang—the James brothers, Jim Connors, Underwood, Jackson, Flinn and Jack Bishop.

“Who are these men—Jim Connors, Underwood, Jackson, Flinn and Jack Bishop?” I asked. “I don’t recognize any of them.”

“Aliases, I imagine,” Frank said. “Damn fool.”

Annie returned to the table and set a tureen of oatmeal down hard between us. “Why did he have to drag you into it?” She directed the question to Frank. “Now the police will think
both
the James brothers were involved, when you were here all the time.”

“I imagine he wrote the note before he left here,” Frank said. “When he thought he could talk me into going with him.”

“So Jesse
did
try to convince you to join him,” I said. “That’s what you argued about.”

Frank lifted the lid of the tureen and stared morosely at the glutinous gray contents. “I should have gone. Maybe I could have talked him out of taking such a crazy risk.”

“You should have done no such thing,” Annie said. “If he wants to get killed, he can leave you out of it.”