The Woman Who Loved Jesse James Page 6

  He massaged my hip and I writhed against him shamelessly, feeling the hard length of him pressed against the juncture of my thighs. He clutched me fiercely and gave a muffled groan, then stilled, his breath coming in ragged gasps. I felt a warm wetness on the front of my gown and drew back in surprise.

  “It’s all right,” he soothed, stroking my shoulder. “Being so near you was too much for me. I couldn’t wait.”

  The realization of what had happened made me blush, but I had little time to ponder the situation. Jessie had pulled up the hem of my gown and gently parted my legs with his hand. His gentle caresses and skillful fondling sent a flood of sensations through me—heat and tension and longing. I wanted to pull away from his touch, yet at the same time I never wanted the contact to stop.

  “Wh . . . what are you doing?” I whispered.

  “I’m making you feel as good as you’ve made me feel.” He bent his head and began to nuzzle at my breast. His tongue traced a circle around the tip, wetting the cloth, flicking back and forth against my painfully erect nipple. He moved to my other breast and I bit back a moan, and arched against his hand, which pressed me down firmly into the bed.

  Just when I felt I could not bear the onslaught of sensation any longer, release came, sudden and sharp. I bucked against him and would have cried out, but his mouth covered my own, his tongue plunging between my teeth, silencing me.

  He kept his hands on me, easing me back to myself, then holding me close. I clung to him, panting. The pleasure I’d occasionally found at my own hands was nothing compared to this.

  He raised his head and looked at me in the dim light. “Are you okay?” he asked.

  I nodded.

  “Did you like that?”

  I nodded again, unable to find words to express my feelings.

  He chuckled. “Can’t say I’ve ever rendered a woman speechless before.” He kissed the top of my head. “Go on. You’d better get back to your own bed. Your pa will be coming down to start the cook fires before we know it.”

  I nodded and slipped from the cot and hurried back to my room. Upstairs, I changed out of the wet gown, stuffing it far back in the wardrobe to be retrieved for washing later. Sallie slept on, snoring softly. I crawled beneath the covers and stared at the ceiling, marveling at everything that had happened.

  Chapter Four

  “You’re looking well this morning, Jessie,” my mother said as she set a bowl of cornmeal porridge in front of him.

  “I’m feeling much better, thank you,” he said. When my mother turned toward the stove once more, he winked at me and I looked away, fearful my eyes would betray every emotion. Jessie did indeed look robust and well-rested this morning. He was no longer the wasted wraith who had been delivered to our door four months earlier, but a well-formed, handsome man who attracted the attention of any who saw him.

  Jesse could not be in a room without being the center of attention. It wasn’t anything he did, but a quality of his person that drew others to him. The brilliant blue eyes, the upward quirk of his mouth, the way his shock of sandy hair fell across his brow—all combined to attract the gaze of any who were near. His voice was deep, and soft with the cadences of the South, but everyone hung on his words. It was as if he’d cast a spell of enchantment over all of us, one we had no wish to break.

  “You’re not coming down with something, are you, Sister?” My mother set my own bowl in front of me and rested one hand on my shoulder. “You look a little peaked this morning.”

  “I . . . I didn’t sleep well last night.” I avoided meeting her gaze and I especially avoided looking at Jesse. It wasn’t a lie; after I’d left Jessie I’d lain awake for a long time, trying to decide if what we’d done was horribly wrong or wonderfully right. My heart leaned toward right, but everything I’d been taught, as the daughter of a preacher, said I’d sinned and would likely burn in hell for it.

  “I should probably apologize for disturbing your sleep last night, but I can’t honestly say I regret it,” Jesse said later, when he went with me to gather apples from trees on the far side of my father’s property.

  I said nothing, too unsure of my emotions to speak.

  He took my arm and turned me toward him. “Come to me again tonight?” He traced the line of my jaw with his index finger, sending shivers down my spine.

  “No, I can’t,” I turned my head away.

  “Don’t be afraid,” he said. “You know I won’t hurt you.”

  “I know, but . . . it’s wrong, Jesse.”

  “What’s wrong about two people who love each other being together?”

  I raised my eyes to his, searching them to see if he meant the words. “I do love you, Zee,” he said.

  “I love you, too, Jesse.”

  “Then come to me tonight.” He kissed my cheek. “I want to be with you.”

  “I want to be with you, too, but—”

  “It’s all right.” His voice was soft, soothing, his hands stroking my back, heating my skin and sending fluttering sensations through me. “I’m not some man who’s going to take advantage, then leave you. I want to marry you.”

  “Marry me?”

  He nodded, his smiled dazzling. “I want you to be my wife.”

  “Oh, Jesse!” I threw my arms around him and he lifted me off the ground. I felt like shouting or weeping, but I did neither, merely clung to him, my heart pounding as if I’d just run across the fields.

  Slowly, he eased me down until my feet touched the ground once more. “We can’t tell anyone until I’ve broken the news to Mother,” he said.

  Aunt Zerelda. The name cast a dark cloud over my happiness. Though she and I had always gotten along, everyone knew she set great store by her oldest boys, Frank and Jesse. She had yet to think any woman was good enough for her sons. “What do you think she’ll say about us getting married?” I asked.

  “She’ll be happy,” he said. “She likes you, and she’ll love any woman I love.”

  Jesse was used to being the center of his mother’s world, so naturally he thought she’d be happy about anything that made him happy, but I wasn’t so sure.

  After Jesse’s father, my Uncle Robert, had died in the California gold fields, when Jesse was only three, Aunt Zerelda had been left with nothing. Uncle Robert had no will; by law everything went to his children—Frank and Jesse and their younger sister, Susan. A local official was given control of the estate on behalf of the children and a neighbor, Mr. West, was given guardianship of the children. A widowed woman, even one of Zerelda’s strong temperament, had no power, even over her own children. Determined to regain control of her life, Zerelda chose the only course open to her—marriage to a wealthy neighbor.

  The marriage was only talked about in our family in hushed tones. What little I knew I’d picked up listening in on my mother and older women gossiping. It seems Aunt Zerelda’s new husband, Mr. Simms, didn’t care for children, and Jesse and his siblings continued to live with their guardian, Mr. West. Unable to bear being apart from her children, Zerelda left her husband after eight months and moved in with the Wests. Those must have been desperate times for her, and part of me couldn’t blame her for clinging to her children so tightly after that.

  But fortune smiled on Zerelda, in the form of Mr. Simms’s death. He did have a will, and had left his estate to her. She had a little money now, and more determination than ever. She chose a better husband in Dr. Samuel, and had him made the children’s guardian. She even had him sign a paper before their marriage that guaranteed that, in the event he preceded her in death, she would retain ownership of the farm and all his property. Never again would Aunt Zerelda be cut off from all that was rightfully hers.

  I could admire all these things about her, while knowing she was just as unlikely to surrender control of Jesse. It didn’t matter that he was a grown man who had fought in a bitter war and almost died; he was still her golden boy, and I was sure she wanted to be the only woman in his life. The question remained—would Jesse
stand up to his mother and go against her wishes when it came to marrying me?

  Most people looking at me would have said I was no match for Zerelda. Despite sharing the same name, we were physical opposites: she was taller than most men, and capable of striking a man down if he crossed her; I stood barely over five feet and made no claims to physical prowess of any kind. Zerelda was known for her scorching tongue. She was never reluctant to express her opinion on any matter and countless men lived in fear of her tirades. I was quiet and usually kept my opinions to myself.

  Better women than I had made the mistake of turning their eyes toward Frank or Jesse and been driven away by Zerelda’s sharp tongue. But loving Jesse had made me brave—brave enough to face even Aunt Zerelda’s wrath. “I’ll come to you tonight,” I said, smiling up at him. “I want us to be together.” That night, and forever.

  Jesse and I spent many pleasurable nights together in the next weeks. As a lover, he could be both tender and fierce. I never knew which Jesse awaited me in the evenings when I slipped into his bed. His ever-changing nature fascinated and excited me.

  I think my mother might have suspected what was going on between us. Not that we were sharing his bed; she would never had condoned such wantonness. But she saw that Jesse and I had developed an affection for one another.

  “I think your cousin is the kind of man who could turn a young woman’s head if she isn’t careful,” she said to me one afternoon as we worked in the kitchen. We were making pickles, and the air was full of the smell of vinegar and spices.

  “What do you mean?” I asked, pretending not to understand.

  “Jesse is younger than you,” she said. “He’s a long time from being ready to settle down, while you should already have a husband and family of your own.”

  “You’re wrong,” I said. “About Jesse, anyway. There’s only two years’ difference in our ages, and he’s ready to settle down. In fact, he’s asked me to marry him.”

  To my mother’s credit, her hand didn’t falter in lifting a heavy jar of pickles from the canner, but when the jar was safely on the table she turned and studied me, her eyes full of sadness. “I had hoped you’d find a husband among our neighbors,” she said. “A stable man who could care for you.”

  “Jesse will take care of me.”

  “Jesse has a wildness in him I fear will never be tamed.”

  I stuck my chin in the air, defiant. “He’s a good man, mother. He loves me and I love him.”

  She shook her head, perhaps seeing it was useless for her to argue. “Think about this, child. Marriage is for life. You don’t want to make a mistake.”

  “Jesse and I will be happy,” I said. “But please don’t tell anyone yet. Jesse wants to wait until he’s told his mother.”

  My mother’s frown deepened. “Zerelda won’t be pleased.”

  “She can’t stop us,” I said, with more bravado than I possessed.

  “I hope you’re right, child. Though I’m not sure even Jesse James can stand up to his mother.”

  In October, Zerelda sent word once more that she expected Jesse to come home. Frank had returned, and she wanted all her children around her. “I have to go,” Jesse told me as we lay in each other’s arms in a secluded copse where we’d been meeting. Wrapped in blankets against the chill of fall and hidden from the sight of others, I was drowsy and content until his words roused me. “I’ve intruded on your family’s hospitality long enough,” he continued, before I could protest. “I’m well enough now to ride, and there’s work to do.”

  Remembering the tirades he’d made before against the men who now controlled Missouri, I suspected he wasn’t referring to work to be done on the family farm, but I didn’t press him. “You’ll tell your mother about us?” I asked.

  “I will.” He squeezed my shoulder. “It will be all right, Zee. You’ll see. I’ll write to you soon.”

  The next day, I stood with the rest of my family and watched him ride away, my heart heavy. I would have been more sorrowful still if I had known then how long it would be before I’d see him again—and how much longer it would be before I would be his wife.

  Two weeks passed before I heard from Jesse again. Every day I searched through our mail, longing for word from him, for reassurance that his love for me was real—that the passion we’d shared had not been my imagination.

  I had begun to despair when my younger brother Thomas brought the letter from the post office, and waved it at me. “A letter for you from Cousin Jesse,” he said grinning. He winked at Sallie. “Do you think it’s a love note?”

  “Give me that!” I snatched the letter from him, my heart pounding, my face heated.

  “Open it,” Sallie commanded. “We want to see what it says.”

  “No,” I said. “It’s private.” I turned and ran all the way up the stairs and locked the door of my room behind me. Then I sat on the edge of the bed and slit the envelope with trembling fingers and eagerly withdrew the single sheet of paper.

  Dear Zee,

  I am on the mend, though still not as pert as I would like. Frank is home now and he and I have been keeping busy, doing what we can to help on the farm. You may have heard I was baptized recently. After coming so near death, I thought it only right to cleanse myself of my sins when I had the chance.

  You’ll be happy to know Mother took the news of our engagement well. She knows what a fine young woman you are and wishes us every happiness. But she advises we wait to make our vows. We are young and with so much unrest, now is not the best time to start a life together. I think her advice is wise and we should not rush into marriage when there is no reason we shouldn’t wait.

  Wait! I thought I knew my aunt well enough to know what was behind her supposed ‘happiness’ at the news of our engagement. She wouldn’t risk Jesse’s anger by forthrightly opposing the match. Instead, she’d counsel delay and hope that time and distance would accomplish what her opposition could not.

  I hope this letter finds you well. I must go now to help Frank with the horses.

  Love, Jesse.

  I stared at the letter, my heart heavy as lead. This was the great declaration of love I had been waiting on? These were the words of undying passion I had longed for? That single word ‘love’ above his signature was a poor substitute for the sentiments I had imagined.

  Where was the man who had swept me off my feet—and into his bed? I didn’t see him on this page, in words he might have written to a casual acquaintance—or a maiden aunt!

  Heart breaking, I refolded the page and returned it to the envelope, then hid it under a corner of my mattress, wondering if, in giving myself to Jesse, I had made a huge mistake.

  I waited for Jesse to return for me. When he did not, I decided to go to him. In late January of 1866, I wrote to Aunt Zerelda, and told her I would like to pay a visit. I made no mention of my engagement to her son or of any other issue that might be likely to raise her ire. Instead, I flattered her with soft words and appealed to her sympathy. I long to see you, dear Aunt, for whom I was named. I know you could teach so many things that as a woman I should know. My mother is so busy with the duties of running the boarding house that it would relieve her of a burden to have me stay with you for a few weeks.

  Whether it was flattery or persuasion on the part of Jesse, or merely Zerelda’s decision that the best way to control an adversary was to keep them close, she replied within a few days, stating she would love to have me come to the family farm in Kearney, to stay as long as I wanted.

  Jesse was not there when I arrived. Indeed, no one met me at the train station. I stood on the deserted platform and shivered in the Arctic wind for almost an hour before, half-frozen, I left my trunk on the platform, and set out on foot. I didn’t pass a single rider in the four miles to the Samuels’ farm along a road rimed with frozen mud. By the time I reached the house my cheeks burned with the cold and I could no longer feel my toes.

  The Samuels’ farm was a prosperous looking place, with a white-wash
ed board fence encircling the yard around a low-slung wooden house, also white-washed, and several out buildings. Empty fields flanked the long drive, last year’s dried corn stalks rattling in the wind like dancing skeletons.

  The first person I encountered was five-year old John Samuel, Jesse’s little half-brother. “Hello,” he greeted me from the branches of a coffee bean tree in front of the house. “Are you come to visit?”

  “Yes, I am.” I craned my head and just made out his overall-clad figure in the branches of the tree. “Where is your mother?”

  “She’s in the kitchen with Charlotte.”

  I went around back and found Aunt Zerelda in the kitchen with the family’s Negro cook. The two women were scalding a pair of roosters, the pungent odor of singed feathers filling the air, more feathers spilling from a bucket by the back door.

  “Hello, Aunt Zerelda,” I said.

  She looked up from the chicken. Zerelda would never be pretty—her features were too coarse, her expression too sour. But like her son, she had the kind of presence that drew the eye whenever she entered a room. Many people were afraid of her, though I was determined not to be.

  “Zee!” She barked my name like an order. “You weren’t supposed to be here until tomorrow.”

  “I’m sure I wrote I’d come today,” I said.

  The furrows on her brow deepened. “I’m sure you didn’t. But seeing as you’re here now, put on an apron and help with this chicken.”

  The hired man was sent to fetch my trunk from the station, and I rolled up my sleeves and went to work. We made dinner for eight that night: Zerelda and her husband, Doctor Reuben Samuel, the children Sarah and John, myself and three rough-looking men whose names I never learned.