Free The Woman Who Loved Jesse James by Cindi Myers

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 whitewashed board fence encircling the yard around a low-slung wooden house, also whitewashed, 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