The Woman Who Loved Jesse James (22 page)

“God, I’m so glad you’re safe,” I murmured, my face pressed against his shoulder.

“I’m safe,” he said, his hand caressing mine. “Did you ever doubt I’d find a way to make it home to you?”

“All I want is a meal and a bath and bed, in that order,” Frank rasped. Annie smiled at his outburst, and smoothed his matted hair.

Zerelda moved from son to son, reassuring herself more than them with her ministrations. She barked orders to Ambrose and Charlotte, to haul water and stoke fires, to fry steak and potatoes and bake cornbread and pies. The prodigals had returned and we all must celebrate.

And celebrate we did. In the wee hours of the morning we drank and ate and praised the Lord for the return of those we loved. Later, Ambrose filled a zinc tub with hot water from the stove. Frank bathed first, then another tub was drawn and it was Jesse’s turn. I waited anxiously outside the door, ready if he should need anything, but after some initial splashing, the room fell silent.

Alarmed, I rushed into the room, only to find that Jesse had fallen asleep, head lolling, one hand clutching the side of the tub, the other resting on the butt of the pistol in the chair beside him.

Even in sleep, he couldn’t give up his vigilance. All the soap and hot water in the world would never remove that taint of violence.

Jesse slept for the better part of two days,
scarcely even rolling over in bed, his face slack with exhaustion. When he woke, we made love with all the fervor and gratitude of two people resurrected from the dead. Afterwards, he trimmed his beard and combed his hair and dressed in a clean shirt and trousers. He admired himself in the washstand mirror, then went into the kitchen and kissed his mother and Annie, and even kissed Charlotte, waltzing her around the room until she shrieked in protest.

“They thought they had us trapped,” he boasted. “But there hasn’t been a trap set that could hold the James brothers.”

Frank, always prone to moroseness, looked more downcast than ever. “We were lucky,” he said. “But it seems to me our luck has about run out.”

Jesse studied his brother, then drew up a chair beside Frank, who sat with his injured leg propped on a stool in front of him. “We had a close one,” Jesse admitted. “But we made it through and we’ll make it through again.”

Frank looked at him, sad-eyed as a hound dog. The back door opened and Ambrose appeared, his arms full of newspapers, and we began the afternoon ritual.

The news was grim. Pictures of the dead Clel Miller, Bill Chadwell and Charlie Pitts dominated the front pages of almost every paper. I wanted to look away, but my eyes remained riveted to the staring eyes and blood-streaked bodies of men who had dined at my table and thanked me politely for the meal. Even in death, Clel still smiled sweetly, while Bill and Charlie looked surprised at their fate.

“It says here the James brothers are thought to be hiding out in Mexico.” Jesse guffawed at the idea.

“This paper says they’ve gone west, to live with a tribe of Sioux Indians, where they’ve married squaws and have a pack of half-breed children.” Annie regarded her husband over the top of the paper. “If you did that, you’d have more than some measly sheriff’s posse to worry about.”

“The question is, where do we go now?” Jesse asked.

“Away,” Frank said. “Away from the heat.”

“Can’t none of these people say for certain we were at that bank,” Jesse said.

“Haven’t you figured out by now it doesn’t always matter what proof the law has as much as what they think they know?” Frank’s stool clattered back as he rose, clutching the back of the chair for support. “You can do what you want,” he said. “But I’m going away.”

Jesse’s eyes met mine across the table. For as long as I had known him, he had always followed after Frank, from the days of toddling across the yard, trying to keep up with his brother, to the night he rode after him to join the bushwhackers. They were a team, “The James Brothers,” or “The James Boys” or “Frank and Jesse James.” One name didn’t sound right without the other.

Jesse leaned across the table and took my hand. “What do you say, Mrs. Howard?” he asked. “Shall we try our hand at respectable living?”

“I think we should, Mr. Howard,” I said. I held my breath as I waited for his answer. I wanted Jesse to be happy, but I also wanted him alive, and it seemed Frank’s idea to go away for a while—perhaps forever—was the best way to keep us all safe and happy.

He rubbed the side of his leg, his lower lip stuck out in contemplation. “We’ll do it, Zee,” he said finally. “It’s time I put aside my wild ways and became a responsible citizen.”

Frank snorted and mumbled under his breath about “impossibilities,” but Jesse ignored him. He swept aside a stack of papers to clear a space in front of him on the table. “Charlotte, is there any more of that peach pie?” he asked. “Seems I have some catching up to do.”

Mrs. Endicott was a petite beauty with spun-gold hair and friendly gray eyes. She greeted me warmly. “You must call me Francis,” she urged.

“Then you must call me Josie,” I said.

She led me to the sofa, while Jesse took a chair opposite Mr. Endicott by the fireplace. “I hope you’re enjoying your new home in Tennessee,” Francis said.

“Yes, it’s very nice to be here,” I said.

“Where are you from originally?” she asked.

“Kentucky.” This was the fiction Jesse and I had agreed on.

“I have a sister in Logan County,” Francis said.

“I never had the pleasure of visiting that part of the state,” I said. Though I knew Logan County was the location of Russellville, the site of one of Jesse’s early robberies. I quickly sought to steer the conversation away from the minefield of our made-up past. “How long have you and Mr. Endicott lived in Nashville?” I asked.

“Four years now. He was sheriff in Chattanooga before taking the job here.”

I caught my breath, sure I had blanched. “Y
. . .
your husband is the sheriff?” I stammered. “I didn’t know.” The room suddenly seemed very small and stifling. I avoided looking at Jesse, afraid I might give away my mounting panic.

“It’s always a pleasure to meet an officer of the law,” Jesse said heartily.

A Negro maid in a white apron appeared in the doorway. “Dinner is ready, Mrs. Endicott,” she said.

Francis rose and led the way into the dining room. Jesse gave my arm a reassuring squeeze, but I took no comfort from the gesture.

The dining room was elegantly appointed, with Hepplewhite furniture and a crystal chandelier. Either the office of Sheriff of Davidson County paid very well, or one or both of the Endicotts had brought money to the marriage.

We sat down to a first course of cucumber soup. I forced myself to eat, not tasting the food. Was our host even now studying Jesse, comparing him to descriptions circulated on the posters which offered a reward for his capture?

“Do you find much crime to keep you busy here?”

I stared at Jesse. He seemed completely relaxed, smiling at Endicott as he awaited the answer to his question.

“Enough,” Endicott said. “Tennessee hasn’t had the trouble some other places have with bandits, but we’re always on our guard.”

“Yes, I imagine you have to be,” Jesse said. “I’m really amazed at the audacity of some of these robbers, operating in broad daylight, then slipping past dozens of pursuers to escape.”

“They’ve done that in Missouri,” Endicott said. “Where they had sympathizers to hide them or cover their tracks. They haven’t had such luck elsewhere. Look at that fiasco up in Northfield, Minnesota with the Younger brothers.”

Jesse nodded solemnly. “Yes. But the law caught all those bandits, didn’t they?”

“They were caught, but it took a lot longer—and cost a lot more in manpower and resources—than it should have.”

“Except the James brothers. It seems no one can lay a hand on them.”

“Their time will come,” Endicott said. “They’ll get cocky or careless and the law will be there to bring them to justice.”

The maid cleared our soup bowls and delivered plates of Dover sole and new potatoes. “What do you think is the key to stopping these desperados?” Jesse asked.

If I’d been seated closer, and not been hampered by my skirts, I would have kicked him under the table. I couldn’t believe he was deliberately keeping the subject on his own crimes. He clearly enjoyed leading the sheriff on.

“I believe more banks and express companies will begin stationing armed guards in their buildings and in the express cars on trains,” Endicott said, warming to the subject. “I’ve also heard talk of alarm systems, and telegraph lines linked directly to the police. If enough of these thefts are stopped before they begin, and their perpetrators locked away, it will discourage the rest.”

Jesse nodded. “You may be right. But I would think there’d be a danger of the robbers adapting their approaches to compensate for the law’s moves. Perhaps they’d strike at night, when the guards weren’t around. Or have an accomplice hire on as an employee of the bank or express company.”

“These men don’t strike me as intelligent enough for that,” Endicott said dismissively. “Most of them are a bunch of ex-bushwhackers—country boys and farmers who don’t have the education and skills to do anything else. No bank is going to hire someone like that.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Jesse said, his expression as solemn as a deacon’s.

“What kind of work do you do, Mr. Howard?” Francis asked. Perhaps she was also eager to steer the conversation away from criminal activity.

“I’m a commodities buyer. Wheat and corn mostly.”

“I thought you might be a sporting man,” Endicott said, using the polite euphemism for a professional gambler. “I understand you and your brother-in-law are good customers of the local faro and pinochle parlors.”

My heart hammered wildly and I put my hands in my lap to hide their shaking, but Jesse only laughed. “You’ve been checking up on me,” he said.

“I hope you’re not offended. It’s part of my job.”

“I’m sure Waymon investigated
my
background before he started courting me,” Francis said. “He has an insatiable curiosity about people.”

I pushed the fish around on my plate, unable to eat another bite. What else had Sheriff Endicott learned about Jesse and Frank? Had inviting us to dinner been a ruse to lead us on—a plan to trap Jesse so that Endicott could arrest him and claim the reward?

“Do you trade horses, too, or just grain?” Endicott asked. “That was a fine looking mare you were riding the other day.”

This seemingly innocent query did nothing to calm my nerves. It was well known that Jesse and Frank always rode the finest mounts.

“I like a good horse,” Jesse said. “I’ve been thinking of investing in some racing stock—Kentucky thoroughbreds.”

“My father trained race horses for a time when I was small,” Endicott said. “I had aspirations to be a jockey, until I grew too tall.”

“I saw some quarter horses down in Texas who ran a fine race, but I like a longer contest myself,” Jesse said.

Then they were off, talking pedigrees and handicaps, long and short odds, two-year-olds and studs and half a dozen other terms I couldn’t understand. I began to feel a bit easier, though I could never completely relax, one ear always tuned for any hint of danger.

Despite my best efforts to hide my uneasiness, Francis noticed. She took me aside after supper. “Are you anxious about your baby?” she asked. “I promise you, he’s all right with Mrs. Boston. My girls adore her.”

“I am a little uneasy,” I admitted, relieved to find this excuse to explain behavior that might have struck anyone as odd. “This is the first time I’ve been parted from him for even a few hours.”