Author's Note: Okay, this is kind of a sequel to American Outlaws.. except
that Jim didn't die, he was shot and lived. Lonnie died though, and Jesse
still left to get married to Zee. Just so all of you readers know and don't
have to flip out when I mention Jim or something. It's about two years
after the original, too. Oh yeah, I don't like Zee. You'll be able to tell
that by the end of this.. installment. Or whatever. Anyway, onward!
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It was cloudy in Tennessee; the air was heavy with moisture. The wind was playing with the trees gently, bringing a warm breeze through the open window where the once notorious Jesse James stood, peering out from behind billowy white curtains. There was a storm coming, he could tell. He had a knack for such things. A crack of thunder confirmed his belief as he sighed lightly and turned his head from the window and those dark, ominous skies.
He wished he knew how it was going in the bedroom; he couldn't stand the wait anymore. Zee had been sick for days now and it didn't seem to be getting any better. Finally he'd called for a doctor, an old friend of his who he knew wouldn't tell anyone of his whereabouts. Doc Mimms. And whom else could he trust better than his own father-in-law? It took him a week to get here from Missouri, but Doc didn't seem to mind one bit.
There was the sound of a door opening and the haggard form of Doc Mimms suddenly appeared in the living room. There were tears in his eyes when Jesse saw his face and suddenly he knew everything was not okay. He moved to the older man with an inquisitive look on his face. He didn't even have to voice his question.
"It's been too long, Jesse," Doc sounded so sullen. He had reason to. "Maybe if we caught it earlier, but no helpin' it now."
Jesse's breath hitched and he sat down with a thud into one of the large armchairs that decorated the James' living room. His head dropped and his frame tensed, obviously holding back the fact that he wanted to cry. He wasn't ready for this. It was too soon. She was too young to die. As cliché as it sounded, it was true.
"What's wrong with her?" he asked in that fine Southern drawl without bothering to raise his head.
"She's got the cholera," it was all he could do to stop from choking on his words.
"Oh," he was silent for a minute. Then, "Well, how's that?"
"There're lots of reasons. You been eatin' anythin' dif'rent?"
"She.. She wanted somethin' fancy for dinner a couple'a weeks ago. We went int'a town an' I got her some nice shellfish. Could that be it?" Jesse's voice shook.
"Suppose so, yeah," his whole face wrinkled and he plopped into the adjacent chair. This was too much. First Webb and now Zee. How could God hate someone so much?
Jesse cleared his throat. "Doc," his head was raised at last, his eyes boring into his father-in-law, "can I see her?"
"I reck'n you should," he paused and looked away. "I've already said my goodbyes."
Jesse had pushed himself up off the chair without waiting for an answer, and he was halfway through the bedroom doorway when he caught what the Doc was telling him. He stopped mid-stride at the sudden realization, even though it had been told to him quite clearly moments ago. His hand gripped the wooden doorframe and he shut his eyes tightly. Why her? She didn't deserve it. He continued his step through and into the bedroom.
The bedroom was rather empty, save for the large bed in the middle of the room and the nightstand on its right side. The walls were whitewashed but not as empty as the actual room. They were dotted with pictures of Jesse and Zee, variations of his wanted posters that Zee had so carefully framed and hung, and even a picture of the Younger brothers before they had taken off to fight the railroad. The floor was hardwood and covered with a large rug, at least under the bed. He'd put it in after Zee had complained that the hardwood was just too cold in the morning. Well, she wouldn't need it now, would she? She probably wouldn't see another morning.
Jesse moved quietly to the bed in the center of the room, to the pallid, still figure lying on it. He sat down slowly, so as not to disturb her, and took up her hand gingerly. Her hand was clammy and deathly cold, and his breath hitched again when he felt it. He hated seeing her like this. She was so full of life before, irrefutably sound with who she was, unlike many of the women he knew and, er, had "relations" with. He didn't want to see her lose that, but she was. She was fighting it, but she was losing. Her head turned at his touch and with some amount of effort he managed to smile at her.
It would be obvious to a blind man that this woman was sick. Her pillow was damp with sweat and her hair clung to her face and neck, darkened from those beautiful blonde strands to a muddied brown that made her look even more pale than she was. Her brilliant blue eyes were rimmed with red like she'd been crying, and she probably had. She probably knew as well that she didn't have much time left. Her once red lips were now dry and cracked and had taken on more of a purplish color. They parted as she made an effort to speak with her dehydrated and hoarse throat.
"Jesse.." her mouth twitched. She was trying to smile.
"Zee, shh, it's alrigh'," he couldn't stop the tears now, but he refused to break down and cry.
"I was thinkin', maybe, we could start a family. We better start soon, y'know." It was obvious that the fever was the influence of that statement. He didn't care; pretending there was a future for them was welcomed.
He smiled through his tears and let out a small, choked chuckle while nodding his head. "Yeah baby, of course. Lots o' kids. Maybe a dog?"
Her facial expression mirrored his own after moments: The tears, the smile. She had come back to her senses for the second, and seemed to realize what she'd just said was not only implausible but also downright crazy. It hurt her to take in that fact and her smile faded; the tears stayed.
"Jesse.. Am I gonna die?"
He didn't answer her. Instead, he pulled himself closer and ran a hand through her hair slowly. "You're beautiful, Zee. I love you."
She smiled again, the effort showing its wear on her face. He raised the hand he was holding previously and touched it to his face affectionately. Her fingers flexed against his cheek in response and he kissed them gently. And suddenly her chest caught and her breath became faulty. He knew what was coming, and found it rather odd that it was just as he said goodbye. Damn his mother's Lord. Her faith hadn't helped her much, either. He watched helplessly as Zee's life just drained out of her.
"I," she took in a sharp breath and looked right at him, "love you, Jesse James." Her gaze became unfocused immediately afterwards and her head lolled to one side. She was unable to keep it in that position anymore. Again the breath caught, she held it in for a second, as if fighting the inevitable. Then she surrendered, letting out a soft breath of defeat. Her eyes stared listlessly across the room and Jesse dutifully closed them for her.
He sat there with her for almost an hour afterwards, his fingers silently stroking the hand he still held to his face. Doc Mimms came in to see that his last child had passed, and left a few seconds later for reasons unknown. Jesse stood and placed his wife's hand down on their bed gently, clearing his throat and leaving the room wordlessly. He stepped through the door and closed it softly, just in time to catch the weight of his body as it collapsed against the strong wood. He slid down to the floor, his back never leaving the surface of the door, and buried his face in his hands.
With another rumble of thunder, the skies ripped open and it began to pour.
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It was cloudy in Tennessee; the air was heavy with moisture. The wind was playing with the trees gently, bringing a warm breeze through the open window where the once notorious Jesse James stood, peering out from behind billowy white curtains. There was a storm coming, he could tell. He had a knack for such things. A crack of thunder confirmed his belief as he sighed lightly and turned his head from the window and those dark, ominous skies.
He wished he knew how it was going in the bedroom; he couldn't stand the wait anymore. Zee had been sick for days now and it didn't seem to be getting any better. Finally he'd called for a doctor, an old friend of his who he knew wouldn't tell anyone of his whereabouts. Doc Mimms. And whom else could he trust better than his own father-in-law? It took him a week to get here from Missouri, but Doc didn't seem to mind one bit.
There was the sound of a door opening and the haggard form of Doc Mimms suddenly appeared in the living room. There were tears in his eyes when Jesse saw his face and suddenly he knew everything was not okay. He moved to the older man with an inquisitive look on his face. He didn't even have to voice his question.
"It's been too long, Jesse," Doc sounded so sullen. He had reason to. "Maybe if we caught it earlier, but no helpin' it now."
Jesse's breath hitched and he sat down with a thud into one of the large armchairs that decorated the James' living room. His head dropped and his frame tensed, obviously holding back the fact that he wanted to cry. He wasn't ready for this. It was too soon. She was too young to die. As cliché as it sounded, it was true.
"What's wrong with her?" he asked in that fine Southern drawl without bothering to raise his head.
"She's got the cholera," it was all he could do to stop from choking on his words.
"Oh," he was silent for a minute. Then, "Well, how's that?"
"There're lots of reasons. You been eatin' anythin' dif'rent?"
"She.. She wanted somethin' fancy for dinner a couple'a weeks ago. We went int'a town an' I got her some nice shellfish. Could that be it?" Jesse's voice shook.
"Suppose so, yeah," his whole face wrinkled and he plopped into the adjacent chair. This was too much. First Webb and now Zee. How could God hate someone so much?
Jesse cleared his throat. "Doc," his head was raised at last, his eyes boring into his father-in-law, "can I see her?"
"I reck'n you should," he paused and looked away. "I've already said my goodbyes."
Jesse had pushed himself up off the chair without waiting for an answer, and he was halfway through the bedroom doorway when he caught what the Doc was telling him. He stopped mid-stride at the sudden realization, even though it had been told to him quite clearly moments ago. His hand gripped the wooden doorframe and he shut his eyes tightly. Why her? She didn't deserve it. He continued his step through and into the bedroom.
The bedroom was rather empty, save for the large bed in the middle of the room and the nightstand on its right side. The walls were whitewashed but not as empty as the actual room. They were dotted with pictures of Jesse and Zee, variations of his wanted posters that Zee had so carefully framed and hung, and even a picture of the Younger brothers before they had taken off to fight the railroad. The floor was hardwood and covered with a large rug, at least under the bed. He'd put it in after Zee had complained that the hardwood was just too cold in the morning. Well, she wouldn't need it now, would she? She probably wouldn't see another morning.
Jesse moved quietly to the bed in the center of the room, to the pallid, still figure lying on it. He sat down slowly, so as not to disturb her, and took up her hand gingerly. Her hand was clammy and deathly cold, and his breath hitched again when he felt it. He hated seeing her like this. She was so full of life before, irrefutably sound with who she was, unlike many of the women he knew and, er, had "relations" with. He didn't want to see her lose that, but she was. She was fighting it, but she was losing. Her head turned at his touch and with some amount of effort he managed to smile at her.
It would be obvious to a blind man that this woman was sick. Her pillow was damp with sweat and her hair clung to her face and neck, darkened from those beautiful blonde strands to a muddied brown that made her look even more pale than she was. Her brilliant blue eyes were rimmed with red like she'd been crying, and she probably had. She probably knew as well that she didn't have much time left. Her once red lips were now dry and cracked and had taken on more of a purplish color. They parted as she made an effort to speak with her dehydrated and hoarse throat.
"Jesse.." her mouth twitched. She was trying to smile.
"Zee, shh, it's alrigh'," he couldn't stop the tears now, but he refused to break down and cry.
"I was thinkin', maybe, we could start a family. We better start soon, y'know." It was obvious that the fever was the influence of that statement. He didn't care; pretending there was a future for them was welcomed.
He smiled through his tears and let out a small, choked chuckle while nodding his head. "Yeah baby, of course. Lots o' kids. Maybe a dog?"
Her facial expression mirrored his own after moments: The tears, the smile. She had come back to her senses for the second, and seemed to realize what she'd just said was not only implausible but also downright crazy. It hurt her to take in that fact and her smile faded; the tears stayed.
"Jesse.. Am I gonna die?"
He didn't answer her. Instead, he pulled himself closer and ran a hand through her hair slowly. "You're beautiful, Zee. I love you."
She smiled again, the effort showing its wear on her face. He raised the hand he was holding previously and touched it to his face affectionately. Her fingers flexed against his cheek in response and he kissed them gently. And suddenly her chest caught and her breath became faulty. He knew what was coming, and found it rather odd that it was just as he said goodbye. Damn his mother's Lord. Her faith hadn't helped her much, either. He watched helplessly as Zee's life just drained out of her.
"I," she took in a sharp breath and looked right at him, "love you, Jesse James." Her gaze became unfocused immediately afterwards and her head lolled to one side. She was unable to keep it in that position anymore. Again the breath caught, she held it in for a second, as if fighting the inevitable. Then she surrendered, letting out a soft breath of defeat. Her eyes stared listlessly across the room and Jesse dutifully closed them for her.
He sat there with her for almost an hour afterwards, his fingers silently stroking the hand he still held to his face. Doc Mimms came in to see that his last child had passed, and left a few seconds later for reasons unknown. Jesse stood and placed his wife's hand down on their bed gently, clearing his throat and leaving the room wordlessly. He stepped through the door and closed it softly, just in time to catch the weight of his body as it collapsed against the strong wood. He slid down to the floor, his back never leaving the surface of the door, and buried his face in his hands.
With another rumble of thunder, the skies ripped open and it began to pour.
