The Woman Who Loved Jesse James (10 page)

In my family, we all knew that when a man said he was going out to check on the horses, he really intended to take a few drinks from a bottle of whiskey tucked behind the feed barrel in the barn. But Frank wasn’t known as a drinking man, so I suspected he wanted a word with Jesse alone. A word about the bank robbery? Had the James brothers been among those masked bandits?

The next morning I found Jesse in the barn, currying a horse. “Jesse,” I said as I approached the stall. “We need to talk.”

He glanced up at me, before returning his attention to the horse. “What about?”

“I’ve been here a week now and we’ve scarcely been alone ten minutes,” I said. “I came here to see you, yet I feel as if you’ve been avoiding me.”

“I haven’t been avoiding you, Zee. I’ve just had things to do.”

“What kind of things?”

He moved around to the other side of the horse, his back to me now, and made no answer.

“Jesse, did you and Frank have anything to do with that bank robbery over in Liberty?” I asked. “Is that where you’ve been?”

“I can’t answer that, Zee.”

“What do you mean, you can’t answer it? Why not?”

“Because it’s not an answer you need to know.”

“Who are you to decide what I need to know?” I drew nearer, facing him over the back of the horse. I grabbed the wrist that held the curry-comb, forcing him to look at me. “Jesse, I’m going to be your wife. Don’t you think I need to know what you’re up to?”

His expression softened. He set aside the brush and twined his fingers in mine. “I won’t tell you anything that might hurt you,” he said. “Let’s just say what I’m doing involves a certain amount of danger, and I won’t have you exposed to that.” He squeezed my hand. “You mean too much to me to ever see you hurt.”

His words cooled my anger, and reminded me of all the reasons I loved him. I stood on tiptoe and leaned toward him, eager for his kiss, but just then the barn door opened, and Frank stepped inside. He looked at us for a long moment, with the sad, solemn expression he almost always wore. “Mama’s looking for you, Zee,” he said after a moment.

“She probably has more work for me to do,” I said. But I let go of Jesse’s hand and set my feet firmly on the ground once more.

Hard work and agreeableness
had done nothing to win over my disagreeable aunt, so the next day I took off my apron, set aside my scrub brush and went to face both my affianced and his mother.

“Did you finish scrubbing the floors?” Zerelda asked when I found her and Jesse seated by the fire in the front room.

“No, I did not.” I sat on the sofa beside Jesse.

“Zee’s been working mighty hard,” Jesse said. “I think she deserves a rest.”

Zerelda ignored this attempt to keep the peace. “Why didn’t you finish?” she asked.

“Because I’m not your slave,” I said, willing my voice not to tremble in the face of her formidable stare. I raised my chin higher and clenched my hands at my sides to keep them from trembling. “I didn’t come here to do all your chores. I came to visit so that you and I could get to know each other better, seeing as how Jesse and I are to be married.”

Beside me, Jesse sat up straighter. Now would he come to my defense? Or would he protest and say he’d never intended to marry me at all?

Zerelda never flinched. “You said in your letter you wanted to learn what I had to teach you,” she said. “That means the proper way to run a house.”

“I already know how to run a house,” I said. “And I know how to cook and sew and make herbal remedies and dance a quadrille for that matter.”

“You obviously don’t know how to keep a civil tongue in your head,” she snapped. “And you don’t know the first thing about looking after my son.”

“That’s for your son to say, not you.”

“I’m sure Zee can take care of me fine,” Jesse said, with maddening calmness. “When the time comes.”

But when would that time be? This was not the declaration of undying love I had longed for. I felt as if the breath had been knocked from me. Somehow I managed to stand. Unable to face Zerelda’s smug expression, I turned and ran from the room.

Blinded by tears, I raced up the stairs and pulled my trunk from beneath the bed. I shoved dresses, shawls and underthings into it, with no thought for order. If I had to drag the thing all the way to the train station myself I would, so anxious was I to be on the next train out of this God-forsaken place.

“Zee, what are you doing?”

Jesse’s words only added to my pain. I gripped the edges of the trunk, gathering my strength. “I’m leaving,” I said. “It’s obvious I’m not wanted here.”

“I want you, Zee.”

“You have an odd way of showing it.”

Then he was kneeling beside me, gripping my shoulders. “I’m sorry, Zee,” he said, his voice soft and low, each word an arrow piercing my defenses. “I know you’ve had a poor reception here. I’ve been too preoccupied with other matters, though that’s no excuse for the way you’ve been treated.” He rubbed his hands up and down my arms, as if trying to warm me after a chill. “It was only today that I noticed how hard Mother was working you, and I meant to speak to her about it—truly I did.”

“What’s been so on your mind you’d ignore me?” I asked, bitterness still tainting my words.

“It doesn’t matter, Zee. It’s in the past now. All that matters now is that we’re together. I promise to make it up to you.”

He kissed the back of my neck, and I leaned against him, feeling myself weaken. Determined to remain strong, I shifted until I was facing him, and searched his eyes. “Do you really intend to marry me?” I asked. “Or did you only say that to get me into your bed?

The color in his cheeks heightened, as if I’d slapped him. “They weren’t empty words,” he said. “I love you, Zee. I want you to be my wife.”

“When?”

“Now isn’t the time.”

“Then when will be the time? If you’re waiting for your mother to give us her blessing, you’ll be waiting a good, long time. And I won’t wait with you.”

“This has nothing to do with my mother. I can’t marry you now because it isn’t safe.” His voice was firm, his gaze intent, silently pleading for me to understand. “I won’t put you in harm’s way,” he said. “Even if that means postponing being with you.”

“I hate being apart from you,” I said. “I’m so lonely without you.”

“I know.” He touched my cheek, the tips of his fingers rough. “It scares me sometimes, how much I want you. How much I
need
you. It feels like a weakness to say as much, but it’s the truth.”

If I hadn’t already been kneeling, my knees might have buckled with the force of this sentiment. “I don’t care if it’s dangerous,” I said. “I want to be with you.”

“Soon.” He kissed the corner of my mouth. “As soon as I’m sure I can protect you.” Then his lips fully covered mine, his arms encircling me, sealing the promise.

Once more all the reasons I shouldn’t pledge myself to him faded in the heat and light of Jesse himself. Any conflict with his mother or strife with my own family seemed insignificant compared to the love Jesse offered. He wanted to protect me. To cherish me. I had spent my life wanting to be thought of as special, hoping to earn the regard Jesse had given so freely.

Esme was only three months older than I, but already she was expecting her second child, and she had become a true mother to Mr. Colquit’s children. Under her care the three had been transformed from wild creatures to respectable young persons. “Why should you wait for him at all?” she asked, her gaze focused on the tiny rows of stitching on the infant’s surplice she was sewing. “I’m sure there are any number of men who would be happy to make you their wife. Mr. Colquit has friends
. . .
”

“No!” I struggled to temper my strident protest. “Thank you, Esme, but I don’t want another man. Jesse is the one I love.”

“It’s one thing to love a man, quite another to marry him,” Esme said. “Jesse doesn’t strike me as good husband material. He’s too wild and always in trouble. Even now, he has to constantly be looking over his shoulder for some enemy or other he made in his bushwhacking days. His past sins prevent him from taking the oath. He’ll never be allowed to vote or hold a local office. He’ll never be thought of as respectable.”

The Iron-Clad Oath, as it was also known, required every man to swear that he had not committed any of a list of eighty-six ‘acts of rebellion’ against the United States, up to and including expressing sympathy for the Rebel cause. Under those conditions, no one we knew could have truthfully taken the oath, but most people looked the other way and swore to it anyway. Jesse, who was well-known to have fought for the guerrillas, could use no such fiction to clear his name.

“As long as I respect him, I don’t care what anyone else thinks,” I said. I stabbed the needle into the cotton tea towel I was embroidering, crying out as I pricked my finger beneath the cloth. I sucked on the throbbing digit while Esme shook her head—not over my clumsiness but my short-sightedness when it came to Jesse.

“You deserve a better life,” she said. “A man with a steady job who’ll provide you with a good home.”

“I love Jesse,” I said again, as if that explained everything. But for me, it did. I had waited years to find a man who would stir me the way Jesse did. I knew everyone around us expected my devotion to him would fade, but the months apart only strengthened my feelings. With Jesse, I was more alive than I had ever been. Who would willingly give that up?

“Love isn’t enough to make a good marriage,” Esme said. “In fact, it isn’t even necessary. Respect and a shared outlook and goals are much more important.”

Esme had not loved Mr. Colquit when they wed; she had made it clear she favored his suit because he was a good provider and could give her what she wanted—a house of her own and children. I had to admit she seemed happy in her marriage, and evidence of her compatibility with her husband was swelling in her womb. Was she so content now because she had grown to love Mr. Colquit—or because she had decided she did not need love?

But I did need love—and Jesse was the man to whom I’d given my heart. I believed he needed me as much as I needed him. His words said he loved me, but his actions made me doubt. If he truly loved me, wouldn’t he want to be with me regardless of the risk?

My father died in April, 1869,
aged sixty-four, leaving my mother to manage family affairs with the help of my oldest brother, Robert. The summer of 1869 I turned twenty-four. Though my mother declared me a great help to her in running the household, only Sallie, Henry and I were still left at home, and Sallie was engaged to be married the following spring. I was acutely aware that I was another mouth to feed and another body to clothe in a household that was now without my father’s income. The girls I had grown up with were almost all married, managing households of their own, while I continued to wait.

Jesse sent me a birthday present of a fine carved cameo set in a gold frame, but I didn’t see him again until early December.

On a pitch-black night I was pulled from sleep to instant wakefulness by the knowledge that something was out of place. I lay scarcely breathing, senses straining. Then I heard the rattle of gravel against my bedroom window. Careful not to disturb Sallie, I slipped from beneath the covers and crept to the window. As I watched, a shadow separated itself from other shadows, taking the shape of a broad-shouldered man in a long riding coat.

My heart beat faster and I shoved up the sash and leaned out. “Zee!” The voice was soft. Deep, and there was no mistaking its owner.

“Jesse!”

“Come down to the barn.”

Without waiting for an answer, he turned and strode away. I closed the window and flew from the room. Out the door and across the ground I ran, frost stinging my bare feet and ankles, an icy wind whipping my gown, but I scarcely noticed.

The barn was warm with the scent of horses and sweet hay. Jesse had lit a lantern and hung it from a beam in the center of the room. He stood in the halo of the light, his coat and hat discarded. He wore a pair of striped trousers tucked into tall boots, and a dark shirt with deep breast pockets—a guerrilla shirt, we called them, the pockets designed to hold shot and cartridges within easy reach. His hair was shorter than when I’d seen him last, and he’d grown a neat beard, which made him look older and a little forbidding.