The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford

Jesse said, “I can’t ever get the same number; they keep changing on me.”

“I don’t even know what a star is exactly.”

“Your body knows; it’s your mind that forgot.”

Charley slid an eye toward Jesse and said, “Riding was a good idea. I wonder if we could go back?”

“So early?”

“I don’t know why but I’ve been poorly lately and the rocking makes my gut want to jump.”

“You need to correct your way of living.”

“Well; like I say, I’ve been poorly.”

Jesse didn’t say anything more. His horse nickered and clicked its bit and its rider dangled his legs off the stirrups and squirmed around with soreness. He turned up his collar and lowered his chin as if the wind was mean and then reined back slightly so that he slipped four feet to the rear and with grim foreboding and fright Charley tried to guess if Jesse’s gun was already out. Greenery was high all around them as they climbed a grade and Charley began the only prayer he knew, getting to the words “my soul to keep” when a comet of golden fire careered down the road. It was the size of a cannon ball and instantly, spookily reeling at them, singeing the animals’ legs, causing them to skirt aside and whinny. And then it was not there but gone. Smoke rose to the horses’ noses and they jerked their heads at the smell.

Charley recollected the marvel to Bob and in the April 21st Liberty Tribune and was still not over his mystification, couldn’t tell if it was lightning or a meteor or tumbleweed that a practical joker set a match to and rolled down the hill. But he said Jesse reacted with calm acceptance, with no more man a scolding look, and claimed that it was an omen, that fire had come to him many times in the past in various manifestations and each visitation was followed by an affliction.

Charley had grown accustomed to the man’s grand manner of lying, so he did not challenge the statement but only glanced to see that he’d misjudged his plight, for Jesse’s greatcoat still covered his guns.

Jesse swung his horse around to the west and on the ride to the cottage swore, “I’ve seen visions that would make Daniel swoon; I’ve been warned as often as Israel.” Then he grinned at Charley as if it were a good wrench or rope pulley that they were talking about. “It’s mighty handy,” Jesse said.

SATURDAY INTRODUCED summer weather to the state: the skies were blue, the sun insistent, the temperature close to eighty at noon. The river flashed light from its rills and currents, and Zee could look up from her scullery work and see Kansas shimmer like a reflection in water. The Fords removed the storm windows and Jesse raised each sash so that sweet air could stir through the rooms, but they were too lazy or lumpish to attach screens, so flies crawled over the rising loaves and birds flew into the rooms.

Jesse went to the market with Tim and Mary and came back home at four with a crate of groceries and a black box c

lamped under his right arm. He kissed Zee and rubbed her fanny and asked her how she was feeling. She saw that he’d subjected his skull to a barber: a smear of white talcum powder was on his neck and his chestnut hair smelled of lilac water; but he looked much handsomer now than when she married him, a quality of aging that she’d often envied in men. Jesse sought Cousin Bob and she told him she thought Bob was resting in the children’s room.

Sunshine was diagonal in the room and curtains flirted in the air. Bob wasn’t sure what woke him. He pivoted in the child’s bed and saw Jesse in a spindle chair, peering at him with great interest. Jesse said, “I never learned what your nationality was.”

“How long’ve you been studying me?”

“You look French.”

Bob rolled to a sitting position. “My grandfather married a French girl in New Orleans. He was with the Virginia volunteers in the War of Eighteen Twelve. I guess I take after my grandmom.”

“You’re gonna break a lot of hearts.”

Bob arched an eyebrow. “How do you mean?”

Jesse revealed the black box from behind his back and reached it over to Bob. “It’s a present.”

Bob raised it and reckoned what it was. “Heavy,” he said.

“You going to look inside?”

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

“You gave me that bawdy bootjack; this is my Christmas gift to you.”

The wooden lid was nailed shut. Bob crammed a coin into the interstices and twisted it until the lid released. “It’s April Fool’s Day, you know.”

“Isn’t a joke,” said Jesse.

Inside the box, nestled in red velvet, was a pearl-handled .44 caliber revolver, a New Model Smith and Wesson number 3, with a six-and-a-half-inch nickel barrel. Bob beamed at Jesse and said, “Such extravagance!” and then turned the revolver to admire it.

“Doesn’t that nickel shine though?”