I peeked out the window. Despite an approaching wall of dark clouds, people were still gathered outside our house, as they’d done all day since the shots were fired. Even after the undertaker removed Jesse’s body in a shining horse-drawn wagon of death, it wasn’t enough to satisfy public curiosity. A few faces in the crowd were familiar to me, but most were strangers, standing in groups to whisper and point. They reminded me of dark buzzards circling a carcass, waiting to feed.
Small footsteps pattered behind me, and I turned to see Tim. His cheeks were still damp with tears, but he had the same determined look I’d often seen on his father’s face.
“Are the people who hurt my papa out there?”
“No, dear. The men who hurt Papa are in jail now,” I said, caressing his hair.
“What will happen to them?”
“I don’t know, son. That will be up to the law.”
I thanked heaven for the kindness of our neighbor, Mrs. Terrel, who would spare the children the next ordeal. An inquest had been scheduled for three o’clock, only hours after Jesse’s death, and Mrs. Terrel, our next-door neighbor who’d brought us an apple-cinnamon pie after we moved in, sat in the kitchen. She offered to watch the children for me, and I accepted her gesture with gratitude.
I’d discarded my blood-stained dress in a heap and scrubbed my hands until they were raw. Yet the bleak aura of death still clung to me. The sheriff insisted his deputy drive me to the courthouse. There were so many people surrounding my home that he feared for my safety.
Thunder rumbled, and a gust of wind fluttered the white sheer curtains at my window just as the deputy arrived.
I walked outside and drops of rain splattered on my hat. Men scribbling on pads of paper shouted questions. Jesse would have pegged them at once as reporters. I ignored them and hurried into the buggy as rain sliced down in earnest, hammering on the roof. We lurched forward and the horse’s hooves splashed through muddy puddles while I stared at the downpour. When we reached the courthouse, the deputy helped me down and shouldered people away as we climbed the courthouse steps.
The courtroom was packed. Someone pointed at a chair and bade me sit. Still in shock by the morning’s events, I followed his direction without a word while everyone in the room stared at me. I’d just taken my seat when a deputy brought in Charlie and Bob. They strutted down the aisle, Charlie with his shoulders back and Bob thrusting his chest out like a peacock. My vision blurred with tears. We had sheltered and fed those two men. My husband had treated them as friends, and his trust had cost him his life. Neither Charlie nor Bob were man enough to meet my eyes.
Coroner Heddens had me stand and raise my trembling hand, swearing to tell the truth. Then he walked across the floor, tenting his fingers. “What is your name, ma’am?”
“Mrs. Jesse James.”
“Some folks think Jesse James was killed a few years back. They aren’t sure who the man is at the undertaker’s. We need to be certain he’s properly identified.” Mr. Heddens cleared his throat and proceeded to ask questions about me, my marriage, and the places we had lived. He inquired about my husband’s wounds, the missing tip of his finger, and the names we’d used in the past. The questions seemed to go on endlessly until the final one.
“Who is the man lying at the undertaker’s right now?”
“Jesse James,” I said, and put a hand on my throbbing forehead. “I’m dizzy. May I please step down now?”
He coughed and rustled papers on the table before coming to take my arm and help me to a chair where other court officials sat. One of them fanned my face, and another brought a glass of cool water for me to sip.
Once the men were satisfied I wouldn’t collapse, the coroner called Bob Ford to the witness stand. Someone had given Bob a new set of clothes. His fine gray coat and green-striped trousers added to his smirk of self-satisfaction. I had little stomach to see Bob’s traitorous face, but need compelled me to hear the loathsome story for myself.
Bob reported his name and age and acquaintance with my husband.
Then the coroner went to the heart of the murder. “So you are the one who shot the man who called himself John Davis Howard?”
“Sir, I shot Jesse James, for that was his true name. I did it when he took off his guns and climbed on a chair to straighten a picture that hung on the wall.”
“When did you decide to do this deed, Mr. Ford?”
“After meeting with Governor Crittenden. He told me if I helped capture or kill Jesse James, I’d be given a large reward.”
“And what was your answer to the governor?”
“I told him I thought I could do it,” Bob said. “He promised a pardon for Dick Liddil, my brother, and me if we fixed it so Jesse James could never rob or kill anyone again.”
My mouth dropped open. Bob Ford just admitted to a cold-blooded murder planned with the approval of Missouri’s governor. Nausea cramped my stomach, and I covered my mouth with a handkerchief.
“Please, may I leave?” I whispered to the court official sitting next to me.
“You may go,” he said, “but you must return in the morning.”
I nodded and left the courtroom, my legs quaking. Bob and Charlie Ford had posed as Jesse’s friends in nothing more than a ruse to commit murder.
Outside, the sun peeked between clouds and sparkled on rain puddles. I walked to the buggy where the deputy waited. “Please take me to the telegraph office. There’s something I must do.”
Even though reporters were sending the news everywhere, I had to personally give the message to Zerelda.
Jesse has been murdered. Come to St. Joseph at once.
The deputy drove me to Mrs. Terrel’s house, and when I went inside, she put her hand on my shoulder.
“Your children are fine. They cried for a while, but I persuaded them to eat a bit of bread and soup.”
“That’s so kind. Thank you for your help. We have so few friends here.”
“Please sit down and let me get you something to eat or drink. You are pale as a sheet.”
“No, thank you. I have no appetite. But there is something you can do that would be a great help.” Tears brimmed again. “If it’s possible, may we stay here tonight? My house is a place of such sorrow, I can’t bear the thought of going back, and I fear what will happen if the children return so soon to the horrors they witnessed.”
“Of course, you may stay, my dear. I’ll do anything I can to help.”
I smiled wanly and sat down. A prayer rose to my mouth then faded. This time, no matter how many appeals I lifted, Jesse would never return.
Tim and Mary clung to me throughout the night, and they cried the next morning when it came time for me to go back to the courthouse. I couldn’t leave my children behind again and took them with me into the waiting buggy.
In front of the courthouse, a crowd milled about on the lawn, but a black bonnet stood half a head taller than anyone else. Zerelda had arrived.
The lines of her face were etched with sorrow. When she saw us, she hugged Tim and Mary. Then she put her arm around me and sobbed. “I have just come from the undertaker’s, where my poor boy is lying on a cold slab. Those miserable traitors have taken him away from us!”
Her grief erased my numb acceptance and brought forth anew the horror and sorrow I’d been trying to suppress. The children broke into tears again at this new display of grief. After a few moments, I composed myself enough to take Zerelda’s arm and climb the steep courthouse steps. Tim, my little man, took Mary’s hand and followed us.
When Zerelda walked inside, the men whispered to each other. Coroner Heddens hooked his thumbs in his pockets and raised a brow. He had a few words with the judge and then he called Jesse’s mother to the stand. Zerelda went to the witness chair and sat down. She raised her stump of an arm, swearing to tell the truth, and answered the coroner’s questions between pauses to dab tears from her eyes.
“Mrs. Samuel, you say that you have been to the undertaker. Did you recognize the body of your son?”
“Yes, sir,” she told him.
“There is no doubt at all in your mind about whether the body you saw is that of your son, Jesse James?”
“I wish to God there was.”
“And who is that lady who walked in by your side?”
“That is my son’s wife and his poor little children. Oh, dear God.” Tears streamed down Zerelda’s face as her gaze raked the courtroom. At once, her cheeks went from pale to crimson. She quivered with emotion and waved what remained of her arm like a vengeful sword. “Dick Liddil! You helped to bring this about. Coward! Traitor! See what you have done. God will have his vengeance!”
Dick cowered in his seat, speaking over the buzz of spectators, “I didn’t do it. It was Bob Ford.”
But Zerelda had worked herself into a fury, sputtering epithets at the top of her lungs until three court officers pulled her from the room while the coroner smacked his palms on the table in an attempt to regain control.
The children and I hurried outside to Zerelda. I murmured soothing words and rubbed her back until the tightness disappeared, and then we climbed into the waiting buggy. Neither of us had energy enough to speak on the ride home, and when we arrived, I blew out a breath of relief. The crowd had disappeared. From the outside, our home looked the same as it always had. But in the parlor, splotches of blood stained the wall, and the dark puddle on the floor had seeped into wooden planks. Pictures were knocked askew, and a chair still lay sideways on the floor.
Zerelda looked around the room and a steady stream of fiery words came from her mouth. “Traitors. Cowards. Snakes!”
I left her to say and do what she must and took the children into the sleeping room. My mouth dropped open in disbelief. Drawers were open and boxes had been riffled through as though a tornado had swirled about.
I called to Zerelda. “Someone has been here. Most of Jesse’s guns are gone. My rings and a few pieces of jewelry are missing, too.”
“So the vultures have come to pick clean our bones. Find a box. We must pack what’s left before they come back and take everything.”
We filled a large wooden crate with what was left of our possessions. It was a pitifully small amount to represent the eight years Jesse and I had been married.
Tim brought out his bag of marbles and bent to pick up something from the floor. It was a pair of blue spectacles that Charlie Ford sometimes put on to disguise himself. “Grandma, look. Cousin Charlie used to wear these.”
She snatched the glasses from his hand. “Charlie Ford is not your cousin. Don’t ever call him such a name again. He was the traitor who killed your papa.”
Tim came to me with tears welled in his eyes.
“It’s all right,” I said. “Your grandmother is very upset. You must try to understand.”
He sniffed, but his face told me somethng else troubled him. “Mama, a man pointed at me today. I heard him say, ‘That’s young Jesse James.’ Why did he call me that?”
I sighed and went to my knees to hold him. “It’s your real name. Since people who wanted to harm Papa were trying to find him, we couldn’t use our own names.”
“My real name is Jesse James?”
“Yes, it is. When you’re older, I hope you can understand why it had to be this way.”
Tim nodded, but the mist of confusion did not clear from his eyes.
The next morning, news of Jesse’s death appeared everywhere. Headlines blared the story of Jesse James being murdered in his own home by his friends. A photographer had taken a picture of Jesse’s body lying on a long board while onlookers posed next to him. The sight sickened me and led to a new fear.
I went to Zerelda. “What if they don’t give us his body?”
She stood at her full six-foot height. “They wouldn’t dare do such a thing. We are his kin and have the right to his remains. No one better try to keep him from us. We’re going right now to the marshal and let him know we want his body released without further delay.”
Zerelda’s breath huffed in outrage by the time we arrived at the marshal’s office. Sorrow and bewilderment kept me from adding a word when she shouted in righteous wrath.
“I demand my son’s body now!”
The marshal held up a hand to silence her. “Mrs. Samuel, I just received a telegram from Governor Crittenden. He says the body is to be turned over to the family.”
But Zerelda wasn’t satisfied. “And while we’re here, I demand protection for my family.” Her eyes shot daggers at him. “Scavengers have already rooted through the house. When we try to leave for Kearney, someone may tamper with what little is left or even attempt to steal my son’s body the same way they have his belongings.”
“In regard to what happened at the house, any stolen property has been confiscated. We’ll see what we can do, Mrs. Samuel, to prevent any problems when you travel to Kearney.”
Zerelda shot him another scalding glance before we left to make our way to the undertaker’s office. Once we were there, Undertaker Sidefaden gave me a paper filled with figures for preparing Jesse’s body and purchasing a coffin. For the second time that day, my mouth dropped open.
“The cost is two hundred sixty dollars? I can’t afford to pay a sum like that.”
The tall, thin man shook his head in practiced solemnity. “There’s no need for you to worry about it, Mrs. James. The Kansas City police commissioner and Sheriff Timberlake from Clay County have paid the bill in full—with their compliments.”