The Woman Who Loved Jesse James Read Online Free Page B

harm there is in dancing at my sister’s wedding,” I protested. “What sin can happen here in the open, with so many people watching?” And what is so wrong with a little sin if it makes me feel more alive? I thought, but did not dare say the words out loud.
    “You know that not all sin is evident for all to see.” He took my arm in his and began to lead me away from the edge of the dance floor. “We must also be concerned about the sin within our hearts.”
    If my father only knew the things I had thought and felt and longed for, he would no doubt judge my heart black with sin. Yet better black than empty of any true emotion or feeling.
    He patted my hand. “I know it is hard for you, dear,” he said. “The war has deprived you of so many little pleasures. But there are still many things for you to enjoy. Go and sit with your friends and enjoy their company. And no more talk of dancing or other unseemly behavior.”
    “Yes, Papa.” I allowed him to lead me to a chair with the other unattached young women. While their conversations flowed around me like the twitters of a flock of birds, I searched the crowd until I found the one young man who did not participate in the revelry. Jesse sat on the sidelines, in a group of older men, their faces somber as they talked of the war, of depredations visited upon friends and relatives, and of the success of the guerrillas.
    I finally broke from the group of young people and edged to the outermost rim of this circle of Jesse’s admirers, darkness concealing me from my mother and father, who wouldn’t hold with their unmarried daughter associating with so many men who were strangers to me.
    One of the other men, a Mr. Cleveland, had taken up the tale of Jesse’s exploits: “The reins in his teeth, a pistol in each hand, Jesse charged into that camp, guns blazing,” he related to an avid group of listeners. “Those Yankees must have thought the devil himself was riding them down. They fired, but none of them even grazed him.”
    The image of Jesse as avenging warrior stirred me. I watched his face as the flickering lantern light highlighted the fine bones of his cheeks and hard line of his jaw. Too many men who had returned from the fighting had a hollowed-out look, as if the rigors of battle had drained their very souls. Yet Jesse radiated health and vitality. Where others bore the weary air of defeat and failure, Jesse held the promise of a bright future.
    “The Yankees are scared of us, boys,” he said. “I’ve seen it in their eyes when we charge them. They turn tail and run at the first sight of us. It’s only because there are more of them than us that they’ve lasted this long. The South has better men in a single county than the whole of the Northern Army, I’m convinced.” His voice rang with conviction, and I saw many an older man nod his head in agreement.
    Then I noticed I wasn’t the only female in the group. I spotted Esme and Rachel across from me at the edge of the circle of lantern light. Fanny was a little farther away, watching Jesse with all the avarice of a cat who has cornered a mouse.
    I looked away from her, and at that moment, Jesse raised his head and his eyes met mine. He rose. “If you’ll excuse me, ladies. Gentlemen.” He nodded and crossed the circle of admirers at an angle that would take him away from me, and disappeared into the darkness.
    I didn’t hesitate to go after him. I moved carefully, on the very edge of the lantern light, making sure I was unnoticed. I met Jesse near the elm where we’d first encountered one another that afternoon. The band struck up a mournful rendition of Lorena , the sweet, soulful notes soaring over the shuffling of feet on the canvas and the muted conversation of the crowd. “Why aren’t you dancing?” Jesse asked, before I could speak to him.
    “You know the answer to that.”
    “Dancing is an invention of the devil,” he said, in perfect imitation of my father delivering a sermon.
    I