I am Mrs. Jesse James Page 4

  “Yes, and I even added a few bits of chicken to the broth. He swallowed everything in the bowl then fell asleep.”

  Mama nodded. “Perhaps Frank was right. Maybe you are Jesse’s angel.” She stood and squared her shoulders.

  “Did he say that?” I tried to hide the blush in my cheeks, but Mama was looking back out the window. “My hope is he recovers quickly, so we can send him home to Zerelda. I’m afraid of what may happen if he’s discovered here.”

  I returned to Jesse’s room, pondering the danger the Federals could pose to us and our kin. The war might be over, but the course of our lives remained perilous as ever. My parents were right. Truly, in such times as these, our only security lay within the unbreakable ties of family.

  5

  As each day passed, Jesse’s face regained color and began to lose its hollow, haunted look. My other chores had been abandoned so I could stay by his side, cooling his forehead if he felt too warm, cajoling him to eat, tending his wound, and reading aloud stories from the newspaper whenever he grew restless. Mama didn’t scold, and my sisters voiced no complaint about the extra work falling to them. We all knew it was imperative we see Jesse healed and on his way home—for his safety as well as our own.

  For nearly a month, Jesse lay in bed. His wound didn’t ooze as much as before and he didn’t sleep as much during the day. Mama posted a long letter to Aunt Zerelda, describing his progress and her belief he would soon be strong enough to go home. His departure would lighten Mama’s shoulders, but it surprised me to realize how much I would miss him. Jesse had become the focal point of my days, and I found it nearly impossible to imagine life once he left for good.

  My promise to stay close to his side provided another source of pleasure—it kept me far from Mr. Locke. I sensed his eyes on me, but had found ways to avoid him, until the day he had the audacity to wait for me right outside Jesse’s door. I was carrying in a tray of food, and Mr. Locke blocked the threshold, moving his face so close to mine, I could see tobacco-stained teeth and smell the stench of foul breath.

  “It would be a shame if anyone found out the name of your kinsman staying in this very house. The Federals might want to come out and ask a few questions about what’s going on. If they don’t like what they hear, there’s no telling what might happen.” When my chin lifted, he added, “Of course, if I became part of this family, it would be in my interest to provide protection from outsiders, would it not?”

  “Keep your voice down, Mr. Locke. Our guest is sleeping.” My face warmed with anger. “You’ve made your intentions plain enough, but you know my answer. If you believe I will bend to blackmail, you are most sadly mistaken.”

  His mouth twisted into a sneer. “I think you would be wise to consider my words carefully, Miss Mimms. If you’re as smart as I think you are, you will make the right decision. After all, everyone needs security these days, don’t they?”

  I kept my eyes down and pushed past him into Jesse’s room, closing the door quickly behind me so Mr. Locke could not see in. My hands were shaking so hard the dishes on the tray clattered together. I set it down near the pitcher and took a deep breath to compose myself. When I finally turned to Jesse, his eyes were blazing.

  “Has something happened to inflame your wound?”

  “That old blowhard dares to bully and threaten you right outside my door? Damn his eyes, that man is nothing more than a traitor.”

  “Please calm yourself. Nothing so dreadful happened. I’ll speak to Papa, and he’ll take care of the matter.”

  “If I weren’t weak as a kitten, there wouldn’t be any need for you to speak to anyone. I don’t abide threats made against me or mine.”

  I would have liked to explore his words further, but Jesse fisted his hands in such distress, I touched his arm instead. He struggled to sit up against his pillows, but I kept my hand on him, then sat in the chair.

  “Listen to me. Forget what you heard. It is of no consequence.” I lifted the bowl. “Here, I’ve brought your dinner. Let’s talk of other things so you can calm yourself. Dr. Lykins will be here soon. You don’t want him to see you in such a state.”

  As I fed him the soup, I chatted without pause about every inconsequential thing I could conjure until the rage had faded from his features. As he swallowed the last bite, Mama led Dr. Lykins into the room.

  I moved aside, and the doctor put down his bag. He pulled Jesse’s nightshirt open. Under the damp bandage, the wound remained raw and the skin around it red and puckered. I kept my eyes on Jesse’s face and flinched when I saw how he pressed his lips together in a white line as Dr. Lykins worked on him.

  After the doctor pressed a new bandage in place, he turned to Mama. “The wound appears to be healing, but not as fast as I’d like. There are still a few signs of infection, which is something we must guard against. Keep it as clean as you can. I’m afraid the bullet has done some damage to the lung and could complicate a full recovery. Healing will take a long while.”

  I voiced the question I knew Jesse wondered most.

  “When will he be himself again?”

  The doctor picked up his bag and regarded me. “You must be patient. Any lung wound is quite serious. I cannot predict with certainty what will occur, but I can say that much depends on two things: good nursing care and his will to recover. The rest is in God’s hands.”

  The news sobered me. I had hoped for a declaration that Jesse’s health would soon be restored, but I straightened my back to face the tasks ahead. He would receive the best care anyone could give. And as far as Jesse’s will to recover, I held no doubt on that score at all.

  Mama walked from the room with Dr. Lykins, whispering words I could not hear. Jesse looked at me, and I saw pleading under the pain that clouded his eyes. When he spoke, his voice was so soft I had to lean in to hear it.

  “Do you suppose God wants me to die?”

  My eyes widened. “Of course, he does not think something like that. What could ever make you think he would?”

  “I’ve done a lot of bad things, Zee. Most of them I would never have dreamed possible. Ever since I left home, the war gave us permission to break every single commandment. Stealing, killing, revenge, and other deeds you’d disown me over if you knew of them. I’ve been part of it all. Does that shock you?”

  His face appeared so openly pleading, I could not allow myself to show any emotion. I had no doubt he’d been involved in terrible acts, but I also knew terrible things had been done to him, and to his family. War made all manner of atrocities possible, and whether a person viewed the same act as heroic or despicable depended on the side to which they claimed allegiance.

  Yes, Jesse had reason to hate. As to what he described, I could not sit in judgment of him. I kept my voice soft. “What you have done is of benefit to the South and its people. It wasn’t for yourself, but for others. That’s what makes the difference.”

  The reassurance seemed to soothe him, although his eyes were achingly sad. I put a few drops of the laudanum Dr. Lykins left in Jesse’s water, and held the cup to his lips. He drank it all, and within a short while he fell fast asleep.

  I stood and arched my stiff back, unused to sitting for so long. On a normal day, one task after another seized my attention. Rarely did I have time to read or wade in the pond beyond our garden. Stillness didn’t normally suit me, yet the quiet I found near Jesse’s bed gave me strange comfort. I picked up the empty water pitcher and went to refill it.

  Mama and Aunt Susan sat at the kitchen table. They stopped speaking when they saw me. Mama nudged Susan. “Would you leave us so I can speak with Zee for a moment?” My aunt nodded and kept her eyes down as she swept from the room.

  “Lucy will take your place nursing Jesse. You have grown far too pale sitting for weeks by his bedside.”

  “But, Mama, I don’t mind sitting with him.”

  As soon as the words left my mouth, I wanted to pull them back.

  Her eyes narrowed. “You are becoming too attac
hed to him. It will hurt you when he leaves, and mark me, he will be going soon. Last week I sent a telegram to Zerelda telling her he has improved enough to travel. She will send Susie to pick him up for the trip to Rulo.”

  My hands fisted. Mama had said nothing to me about sending such a message to Zerelda. I bit my tongue hard before speaking. “If he’s leaving soon, there’s no reason to have Lucy care for him. When the time comes for Jesse to go, there will be no interference from me. You needn’t worry. I only want to help him.”

  “You have always had a tendency toward dreaminess and feeling too deeply. Keep in your mind that Jesse is your cousin and friend. He cannot be more to you than that.”

  “These are things I already know, Mama.”

  She gave me a sharp look and then nodded. “Very well. You may continue as long as you do not forget your promise.”

  Given Mama’s desire to see Jesse gone, I half expected to hear a wagon heralding Susie’s arrival any day. This knowledge shadowed each moment I spent with him—bathing his wound, coaxing him to eat, or teasing him to smile.

  Finally, on a hot afternoon in mid-July, the dreaded time arrived. I had been reading next to Jesse’s bed while he slept, and the sound of a horse approaching caught me up short. Carefully, I closed my book and set it on the table, my shoulders slumping as the reality hit. Soon Jesse would be gone. In slumber, his face looked even more boyish. I’d shaved him two days earlier, resulting in a tiny cut on his neck, and he’d laughed, calling me his executioner. I watched his chest rise and fall with each measured breath, and only turned when the door to his room swung open. But instead of seeing Susie, a tall man in dusty, faded clothes appeared. A large bushy beard hid most of his face, but when he removed his hat, I leapt to my feet and ran to hug him.

  “Frank! I thought your sister was coming.”

  “She’s here, but it made Ma feel easier for me to escort her at least part of the way.” He looked at his brother. “I’ve heard what good care you’ve taken of him.”

  Frank didn’t bother to soften his voice, and the sound caused Jesse’s eyes to blink open. He saw Frank and grinned.

  “Hello, Buck.” The affectionate nickname made me smile. Zerelda had called Frank “Buck” ever since he turned fourteen and had grown as tall as a white-tail buck.

  Frank took the seat I’d vacated. “I’ve come with Susie to take you home, Dingus. Ma was fit to be tied over not coming herself, but it’s too dangerous for her to travel here when she’s under orders to stay away. Reuben practically had to hold her in place so she wouldn’t jump in the wagon. She’s frantic to see you.”

  Jesse shot a glance my way. “Would you mind leaving us for a few minutes, Zee? Buck and I need some time to talk.”

  With a hot face, I pulled the door softly shut behind me. Susie stood just outside the threshold, wearing the same impish smile as her brother. Even though we hadn’t seen each other in years, she stretched her arms wide, and I stepped into her embrace.

  “It’s so good to see you, Zee. I’m relieved Jesse is doing so much better. Ma is anxious to tend him herself now. We know he’s got a lot of healing yet to do, and it’ll be hard for him to let Frank head out without following. But such is the way of things.”

  “Perhaps being in Nebraska and far from everything that’s happened in Missouri will help him heal faster. How is everyone doing in Rulo?”

  “Ma is the same as always. She writes letters to any person she thinks can help us get back home. Reuben is still not himself. Ever since the Federals tortured him, he’s been fearful, and now he’s growing more so every day. A doctor told Ma the hanging may have damaged his mind. Said it’s likely he’ll never be the same as he was before.”

  My thoughts turned to Zerelda, Reuben, and their children waiting in Rulo. Despite her exile, Zerelda’s defiance toward the Federals had not dimmed. When her young daughter was born, Zerelda had christened her Fannie Quantrill Samuel, in honor of the man who led Frank’s troop of bushwhackers. She flatly announced to anyone who asked that she was proud to count a Quantrill as part of her family. Her words exemplified my aunt’s lion-like courage, or as Papa sometimes said, her way of stirring up feelings that could later come back to haunt her.

  A short while after he had arrived, Frank rode away without much more than a swift farewell. Papa explained if Frank stayed too long, it would increase the odds of bringing trouble to our door. The idea of never staying in one place for any length of time made my heart heavy, for that sad fate would also apply to Jesse. I scolded myself for the dark observation. His health had improved, and I should rejoice, rather than fret. But the idea of his departure still saddened me in ways I found hard to understand.

  Papa and Uncle Thomas carried Jesse to the wagon in much the same manner they’d brought him into the house. Aunt Susan filled a bag with bandages, food, and some laudanum to ease his pain on the journey. I tucked a quilt around him with special care.

  He captured my hand and kissed it.

  “Thank you for all you’ve done. I know how hard you worked at pushing me so I wouldn’t give up.”

  I wanted to tell him it wasn’t burdensome at all, but Mama’s presence made me change the words to something more proper.

  “Please write when you can. Let us know how you’re doing.”

  “I will,” he promised.

  “Good-bye, Susie. Both of you take care,” I told them. Susie laughed at my words. “Don’t you worry. Frank plans on staying nearby. He’ll keep an eye on us until we make it to the boat.”

  She waved before slapping the reins to move the horse forward, and the creaking wagon lumbered away. I picked up a broom from the porch, determined to resume my old chores before Mama had the chance to complain. I swept the sickroom floor and stripped away the dirty sheets. When I finished, Jesse’s room seemed very empty. I didn’t realize it then, but soon the house would become emptier still.

  One week to the day after Jesse left us, William Locke disappeared.

  6

  It was blazing hot the afternoon Mr. Locke told our other boarder, the frail Mrs. Parkinson, that he planned to walk to the pond for a swim. It was customary to extend such a courtesy in the event anyone else considered the same idea. After he set off, Aunt Susan joined Mrs. Parkinson on the porch. They watched him stroll away while Mrs. Parkinson commented on the dust clouds circling his boots.

  By the time the sun rested against the horizon, Mr. Locke still had not returned. Even after I set the table with a dinner of boiled ham and potatoes, he did not appear. Papa saw Mr. Locke’s empty chair, and his brow puckered. William Locke had never before missed a meal.

  Papa slipped an arm around Mama’s waist.

  “Go ahead and serve dinner. Thomas and I will drive out to the pond. Perhaps Mr. Locke is ill. I’ve noticed he hasn’t been himself of late. Or maybe he’s been hurt.”

  Papa and Uncle Thomas left to harness Lully. They did not return until we were cleaning dishes.

  “We saw nothing unusual on the road, but at the edge of the pond, we found his clothes, folded up in a neat pile.”

  Papa held out a white linen shirt and brown pants that I’d washed often enough to recognize.

  Aunt Susan’s eyes widened.

  “You don’t suppose he might have drowned?”

  Thomas shook his head. “The pond looked smooth as glass. A body would most likely float unless caught by a snag or weighted down. I’m not sure he even entered the water. The ground near the pond looks the same as everywhere else in July, baked hard as clay. It’s as though William vanished without a trace.”

  “But a person cannot simply disappear.” Mama’s firm tone reined in my imagination. “What should we do, John?”

  “In the morning, I will go to see Sheriff Wilson. He may send some men to search the area around the pond. I don’t know of anything else we can do except say a prayer for William’s safe return.”

  When Papa came back from town, he told us he’d made a report. The sheriff promised
to launch an investigation when he could, and that he’d let us know if he found any clues. Uncle Thomas shook his head and declared a wandering marauder must have carried off William Locke, although none of us could come up with a reason for anyone to do so. Mama posted a letter to Mr. Locke’s distant cousin, a woman named Janet. Whether the correspondence had been received or not, we never discovered, for no reply came.

  After a few weeks, Papa and Uncle Thomas decided to empty the long-occupied room of Mr. Locke. Since he owed money for rent, they determined it fair to retain his remaining possessions, along with a small amount of money left in a wooden box under his bed.

  Mr. Locke’s absence didn’t distress me. In fact, freedom from the burn of his lingering glances made me smile for the first time since Jesse left. I had not yet shared with Papa the threats Mr. Locke made, and I decided not to worry him now that the information no longer mattered.

  Any questions over the strange fate of William Locke disappeared when my brother David trudged back to us, thin and ragged but with the same warm hug. We were thrilled beyond belief when he told us he’d heard Thomas, too, would soon be allowed to make his way home. At that news, Mama fell to her knees and we all cried and bowed our heads, praying most fervently in thanks to the Almighty. As with every Southern sympathizer, both Thomas and David had been required to take the Ironclad Oath of Allegiance to the Union before they could return. This mattered not a whit to me. I only wanted them both back home with us.

  With renewed vigor, I threw myself into work at the boarding house, trying to occupy my mind with things other than the four weeks spent in a small room nursing Jesse. I’d severed myself from anything but him, and now that he’d gone, my thoughts were muddled as if I’d just come to the surface after swimming underwater, oblivious to what had happened around me.

  On a quiet Sunday afternoon, Lucy and I took the old buckboard out for a drive. I welcomed the fresh air and time away from the boarding house. We traveled toward town, and the farther from home we went, the more appalling the sights.