AUTHOR'S NOTE: A very small portion (two lines) of the first letter is an excerpt from an actual letter written by Hickok's real-life wife, Agnes, after his death. Otherwise, this is purely a work of fiction.
2 August 1882
Dearest Lou,
You must be surprised to see that this letter is from me. I know it's been ages since I last wrote. Months, probably. Years? Since Mariah was born, now that I think of it. My, has it really been that long? Then she was a squalling, squirming pink mass of babyhood and I had just been widowed; now she is nearly two, a tiny little thing with her own personality, and my Jimmy is still gone. It was two years ago today.
Please forgive me, Lou, for taking so long to write. I never meant to lose touch with you, and perhaps I never truly did, for I've thought of you, every day, always. I speak of you so often that my children are quite familiar with you, with Kid, and with their family so far away. And always you are in my heart. I have yearned for you many times, to sit with you and talk with you, to pour a cup of coffee and help myself to one of your tasty sugar cookies, to feel your friendship once again nearby.
And yet I've cut myself off from you all, from the family I love so dearly. These past two years have been hard for me, Lou. I still reach for Jimmy in the night; in the mornings I still wake expecting to see his handsome face on the pillow beside me. I catch myself thinking, 'Oh, I must tell Jimmy about that,' or 'Jimmy will just love that story,' and then I have to remind myself that he is no longer here.
I miss him, Lou. I miss him so much. I can see him day and night before me. The longer he is dead, the worse I feel. It's as if I can convince anyone else that I'm fine, but never myself.
I've been living for my children. Had it not been for them, I know I would have just taken to my bed and curled underneath the covers, never to come out again. But they have forced me to be up and on my feet, to stride through each day with purpose, and I thank God for them.
I wish you could see them, Lou: Jonathan fancies himself quite the man of the house, though he is only twelve, and does his best to take care of us. I am prouder of him with each day that passes. He is growing into a fine young man, decent and upstanding, loyal and steadfast, more like Jimmy with every breath he takes. He still remembers his father quite clearly, for which I'm grateful. He'll need those memories in the years to come, as well as those I can relay to him, for he's quite willful and thick-headed -- also like Jimmy, as I'm sure you'll recall!
Eli is like me. Every time I look at him I see myself at that age: so shy, so quiet, so willing and eager to please. He loves to read, just as I did. Only eight and he's already checking out the biggest, fattest books he can find from the library. He's quite popular with the elderly librarians, twin sisters of about sixty who've never married. He has a mind like a steel trap and once he learns something it's shut up in there forever, he never forgets. He remembers things about science and nature, he remembers every detail from the stories I've told, and sometimes he tells the stories himself. He's my gentle child, always willing to sit by my side and be my baby.
Mariah, on the other hand, is her aunt Lou all over again. From the time she began to toddle around the house, Jonny started taking her to the stables and with him on his rambles through the fields. She refuses to wear dresses or wear her hair in anything but plaits. She's so bull-headed she'd make you look like a soft touch. She's speaking in full sentences now. They grow up too fast, Lou. I don't want Mariah to be so big. She is the last child Jimmy and I created. I want the time to savor her childhood.
When she was born I made the promise to myself and to Jimmy's memory that I would fix every detail of her into my mind, that I would remember her first tooth, her first word, her first everything. But I find that such moments slip by before I know it, and I try to recall if Mariah said her first word before she cut her first tooth or if it was the other way around. I've started writing everything down, but even then I can't seem to keep up. I just hope Jimmy won't hold it against me when I see him again.
I feel as if I haven't been there for my children the way I should have, for all that I try. I haven't been a terrible mother, but I certainly haven't been the mother they deserve. If it weren't for Billy, I'd be a miserable failure indeed.
Yes, our own Billy Cody. In the years that he and Jimmy traveled together performing in Billy's show, they grew quite close, and I grew closer to him than I'd ever expected to be. I've always loved him because he's Cody and he's charming and kind and fun to be with, but I guess I never knew him. He's "Uncle Billy" now and the children adore him. He's been a good friend to me indeed. He visits at every opportunity and always manages to pull me out of my despair when it threatens to overwhelm me. I've seen a side to Billy that, truthfully, I don't think many have seen, if any. He's been a salvation to me.
Night is falling now. I have lamplight to guide my pen. In the back of my mind I am reaching out to you across these miles. All day I have been thinking of my Rock Creek family, of the Pony Express, of my parents. My father must be so lonely now that Mum is gone. I can't bear to think of it.
Last night it rained. A beautiful, thick, heavy rain that fell so fast and hard it drowned out all the other noises of the summer night. It drummed on the rooftops and clattered against the house. That wonderful smell filled the air, making everything seem so clean and fresh and new again.
I walked outside after the children had fallen asleep. I closed my eyes and threw my head back and let it wash all over me. Billy says I'm lucky I didn't catch my death, but I had to go out there. It was so inviting.
Rain was special to Jimmy and me. We used to walk in it, play in it. Once, we made love on our porch while the rain fell around us. I remember the rain glistening on his skin, catching in droplets at the ends of his hair, the way the beads of moisture clung to his lips as he smiled at me. Sometimes when it rains I think I feel him touching me again, reaching out to me as if he'd never been gone.
I gave birth to Jonny on a rainy afternoon and it was a rainy night that I told him I was expecting Eli. And it rained the day the men came to tell me Jimmy was dead. So you see, rain was always important to us.
I hear two impatient boys and a little girl demanding my attention, bedtime stories and goodnight kisses. Jon still lets me tuck him in at night. I wish he would never grow out of it, but I know that some day he will. He'll be thirteen next year. I wasn't much older than he when I joined the Express, and already that seems a lifetime ago.
Billy has gone to them, leaving me here in peace to write this letter. I can hear the children laughing. They love Billy so much. It pains me to think he might somehow replace their father in their affections, but what's to be done? Jimmy is just a warm memory, while Billy is here, alive to love and be loved. It's the natural way of life, I suppose, when you're a child.
I will never forget the first time I laid eyes on you Rock Creek folks. Sitting in that bunk, feeling like wild horses had taken a stampede over my face and body, staring at all those strangers, so afraid. Rachel -- so kind and motherly, leaning over me with a face full of concern. Ike-oh, Ike!-with those expressive eyes, gazing at me with curiosity. Buck and Billy side by side at the foot of the bunk. Kid's blue eyes lively with interest. Teaspoon beside you as you both watched. I knew there was something special about you, but I didn't know what it was just then. And dear Noah, face etched in worry.
Then I saw Jimmy. My heart did funny things to me, even then as he sat glowering at me. I know that in many ways you were far more suited to Jimmy than I was, but something in me felt a pull in his direction. Since that moment I've felt his presence in my life no matter where I am. When I left for England, I felt Jimmy with me. During my marriage to Magnus, I felt Jimmy with me. No matter how many times we were separated, I never felt that he was truly gone. I missed him physically -- seeing his face, hearing his laughter, kissing him, holding him. But I felt him in my soul. As I do now. But oh, I miss him, Lou. What I wouldn't give to touch him again.
My, I have gone on, haven't I? Please write soon, Lou. My dearest love to everyone.
Love,
Jack
23 September 1882
Dear Lou,
Your response got to me so promptly you must've written it seconds after you read my letter! Thank you for writing back and for forgiving me. It means so much to me, Lou.
Your offer surprised me, however. I know it shouldn't have, you and Kid have always been so generous, but I was surprised nonetheless. And my honest answer is that I don't know. I don't know how I would feel about moving back to Rock Creek, I don't know how I could handle it. It's not that there are too many memories there, it's that there are too many memories here. The house that Jimmy and I built together, the bed where we slept side by side, the acreage our children have played on all their lives. He is everywhere for us, and I don't know if I'm willing to take that away from my children. But I thank you both for your loving offer. I truly do.
It's been over a month since my letter, and already so much has changed. Mariah finally turned two and she is so pleased with herself. Jonny now works part of the time for Mr Clancy, who runs the mercantile. He cleans and sweeps and helps customers carry out their purchases. He likes it very much and is so proud of the money he brings home to the family. I let him keep ten cents of it and put the rest away in the bank so that one day he will have something to fall back on. He gives a nickel of his wages to Eli every time he earns them, and always brings Mariah home a stick of candy or a plaything. He's such a good boy.
But the most important thing is Billy. He proposed to me last week, Lou. I didn't expect it. We were sitting on the porch steps at night, the children asleep in the house. We'd been quiet for a long time, and then he turned and looked at me, and he said--Jack, I need to ask you something. He said--Jack, I've known you a long time now. We were kids when we first met, and we've almost kind of grown up together, in a way. I've always thought a great deal of you, especially because you made Jimmy so happy. You've always been a friend to me, and I've been mighty fond of you. I thought I would never be anything more than fond of you.
But that all changed, he said. It changed years ago. When you and Jimmy moved out here and I started coming to see you regularly, spending so much time so closely with you, God forgive me I fell in love with you. I envied Jimmy being married to you. I hope you can forgive me for that. I'd sooner have cut off my right arm than envy my friend his wife. But I did. I love you, Jack, and I have loved you for years. I want to take care of you and the children. Will you marry me?
As they say, Lou, you could have knocked me over with a feather. Perhaps I should have expected it, but I didn't. I stared at him for a long moment, and then I asked him for time to decide. Mostly because I sensed the sincerity of what he said, and I knew I owed it to him to really think it over. But I was so shocked. And he hasn't been back since.
I don't know what to do. I can't marry Billy, I just can't. I love him dearly, but not that way. I can never love any man the way I loved Jimmy. No matter how tempting it is to lose yourself in someone in order to forget someone else. And it is tempting. I can't tell you how much. I want to forget this pain I still feel. I want someone to love me again, to hold me in the night and kiss me hello and goodbye. A man to talk to and listen to. Maybe to have another baby with.
But I can't marry Billy. I would always compare him to Jimmy, and that's just not fair. Billy is a good man in his own right, he doesn't deserve to be compared to someone else. I should love him for being himself, not for being someone to lose myself in. And yet I can't bear to hurt him by saying no. I hate this indecisive part of me. I can't think about it right now. I'll go mad.
I was so happy to get your letter and to read all about the goings-on in Rock Creek. I can't believe Buck and May have twins! And that they named them Jill and Louise -- I'm touched beyond words.
I'm very glad that Rachel is still so happy in Vancouver with Cappie. It does my heart good to know that she's settled into such a beautiful life there. She was so afraid to move away, and now she feels so at home. Of course, two growing boys would keep any woman's hands full, I'm sure. I'm not surprised she named one of her sons after Teaspoon. I think Hunter Capshaw is a fine name. But it just doesn't seem possible that Teaspoon can have been gone for six years now.
I remember that Jimmy was heartbroken when we received word that he'd passed on. As we all were. Now that I think of it, wasn't that the last time we saw each other, Lou? At Teaspoon's funeral? I can never thank you enough for waiting for us. The journey was so long and sad knowing what awaited us when we got to Rock Creek, but I thank you from the bottom of my heart. The dear man. I miss him every day.
And you, my dearest friend, sound happier and more content than ever. But you needn't worry about me. I get by, and my babies take good care of me. I still miss Jimmy every minute of every day, but the pain isn't so unbearable that I want to give up, and it's certainly nothing to worry yourself over. I manage just fine, though I do ache to see him again.
The other day I swear I heard his voice on the wind. That sounds silly, I know, but it's true. I didn't hear words, I just heard the murmur of his voice. Like it used to be in the early mornings before he would leave. Before I even woke up, I could hear him talking to me, coaxing me to wake up and say goodbye. Not the words, just the tone, the pleasant rumble of his voice, the love there.
After he died a nice neighbor took Jon and Eli from me for a few days, to let me rest up and try to get back to my old self. Instead I holed up in this house and didn't sleep or eat for days. I wandered through each room, touching the chair where he sat at dinnertime, holding the pillow he used at night, smelling his clothes, stroking the worn Bible he had since our Express days. I wore his shirts every day and wouldn't wash them. They still smelled like Jimmy.
I still wear his shirts sometimes, but they don't smell like him anymore. I don't mind, though, because I pretend it's his arms wrapped around me, and then I feel better.
Some women in this town said I should be ashamed because my husband died while gambling. They're trying to make me feel shame for the husband I was so proud of. They can't take away what Jimmy and I had. I won't let them.
It's been two years now and I don't know what to do. I feel as if I've reached a standstill, but I refuse to believe there's nothing left to do with my life. Maybe if I listen carefully, Jimmy will tell me what to do.
Write again, Lou.
Love,
Jack
17 October 1882
Dear Lou,
Wiser words were never spoken. When will I learn that you are my voice of reason? As I write this I sit on the floor in the middle of a sea of packing crates. Yes, my dear, darling friend, I'm on my way to Rock Creek.
I was already beginning to relent to the idea when your letter arrived saying that my father had agreed to move as well. Your generosity will never cease to astound me. My children at last have a chance to know their grandfather. Lou and Kid, I love you both so much!
The children are so excited. They're eager to see Rock Creek and the family they've always heard so much about. Jonny has vague recollections of you all, but Eli has none. They've been fighting over which of them will be Uncle Kid's favorite, Uncle Buck's favorite, Aunt May's favorite... It's exhausting me! They're picking out names for the horses Kid has promised them. They're beside themselves.
So you see, I have been holding them back. I was afraid they wouldn't want to leave the home they had shared with their father, but in fact they're eager to start anew, and it is only I who's been afraid to leave. But you probably knew that, didn't you? Clever girl.
I haven't answered Billy's proposal yet. (Here I heave a big sigh of frustration.) Not two days after I wrote you that letter Billy was called away. He asked that I not give him an answer yet, to wait till he got back. As of today he's not back yet. I have to tell him no. It wouldn't be fair to either of us. But it breaks my heart to break his. When we said goodbye, for the first time I saw the love in his eyes. I don't know why I didn't see it before, except perhaps because my own eyes were so full of Jimmy.
He'll be back next week, and I'll tell him then. Hopefully I can break it to him as gently as I want to.
We should be packed and ready to leave by the end of next week. We're making quick work of this huge house. We've given a great deal of our things away and have only saved the most precious. I hope we don't overrun your house with our belongings. The journey should take us about ten days. You'll receive this before then, and I hope you'll have had enough time to prepare for our thunderous arrival! And it will be thunderous, trust me.
I can hardly imagine Ben courting! When I try to picture it, I suppose the face I'm seeing is my little Maddy's, as it would have been had she lived. Not simply imagining her as Ben's intended (though what a lovely thought that is) but imagining her as she might have been now, so grown up, so beautiful, preparing for a life of her own, just the way Ben is.
I suppose there is no more to say, then, except thank you. Thank you, thank you, from the bottom of my heart I thank you. For your friendship, for your gestures of hospitality and love. You are wonderful, Lou, and I know I am blessed to have you.
One last thing -- you say you worry about me. Don't. Please don't. However sad I am, however much I miss Jimmy, life does go on. And I have his memory to comfort me. I'm quite content to live with that. Some people go their whole lives without ever being loved the way I was. It was a great gift to be loved by him.
I've enclosed a letter from Jimmy I found the other day while sorting through our bedroom. He wrote it while away with Billy in England. I wasn't able to go with him, as I was pregnant with Eli. I'm sending it to you, Lou, because I wanted to share it with you. And I want to reassure you just why the memory of his love is enough for me.
See you soon!
Love,
Jack
May 13, 1874
My darling Jack,
We've been in England for a fortnight now. The show is going well. The English people can't seem to get enough of us. Being as they never had a Wild West of their own, they are fascinated by us all, and I reckon we are downright exotic to them in our spurs and boots and holsters. Like a dime-store novel come to life. We've been held over an extra two weeks, by popular demand, which you know thrills Cody to no end. I hear him muttering box office totals in his sleep.
Cody and I have wandered through the streets of London. We've seen Big Ben and the Tower, Hyde Park which is very beautiful, and so many other things I can't even remember. I've seen your mother and father several times already. They get a right good laugh out of Cody. I think his sense of self-importance tickles them. And they treat me like a son, and promise to visit us soon.
London is a wonderful city. I know now why you love it so much and miss it. I only wish you could've come with me, but I wouldn't risk our baby for the wide world. I think we'll make it back in time for the birth. I hope we will.
I miss you, Jill Hickok. I love saying that -- Jill Hickok. I love writing it out and seeing how it looks on paper. It looks mighty good. It means you belong to me, Jack, and I belong to you. I think of you every second. Sometimes I think of how much you would enjoy something in particular, like the park or a show, and sometimes I just think of you, think of how you're mine and I love you.
It's kind of late at night and I've had a long day, so my mind is running off without me. Forgive me if I get a bit sentimental.
We've had some bad times, Jack. We've had heartaches to last a lifetime. It would be foolish to pray not to have any more, as that is not possible in this life, so I will only pray that we are given no more than we can handle together. You are the most important thing in my world. You and our son and that baby about to be born, and I would fight to the last breath to keep you all safe.
I think of what your father said at our wedding, that woman was created from the rib of man; not from his head to be above him; not out of his feet to be trampled upon by him; but out of his side to be equal with him, under his arm to be protected, near his heart to be loved. You are equal to me, protected by me, and loved by me, as was intended.
We know that life is a fragile thing. I could have been taken from you several times over by now, and God knows you could have been taken from me. We've lost two children, but we have kept each other, and it is important to remember that no matter what happens, I will always be there for you, no matter what. Time and distance aren't really obstacles when you love someone. I'd overcome anything to be with you. Just remind yourself of that from time to time: Jimmy will be there. Jimmy will be there.
I'll be there.
Your loving husband,
Jimmy
12 October 1882
Dearest Billy,
I'm writing to you from the train, as no doubt you can tell from the shaky penmanship. Jonny is laying fast asleep on the seat in front of me, his long legs hanging over the edge of the seat. Mariah is dozing next to me, her head in my lap. Eli is amusing himself with Dickens. We are very well, Billy, and still in good health. The traveling has not seemed to have much effect on any of us, and though we long to have our own beds to lay in, we are not altogether uncomfortable.
Darling Billy, thank you for everything. Thank you for your unfailing kindness and devotion to Jimmy and the children, for the years you comforted me after Jimmy's death, for your smile and your laughter and your humor. And thank you for understanding why I cannot marry you. I so want to see you happy, Billy, and I feel in my heart that you wouldn't be happy with me.
I hope that in time you find the woman who will make you happy, and that you will visit us in Rock Creek. The children would love seeing you again. You saw how they cried when they had to tell you goodbye. You will always be welcome in our home, Billy, and I know Kid and Lou would love to see you, too. We will always be family.
Remember how we sang to each other that first winter after Jimmy died? I would sit in the rocking chair with my knitting needles, like an old woman -- Oh, where have you been, Billy boy, Billy boy? Oh, where have you been darling Billy?
And you would sing out from the couch where you were polishing your shoes or reading a book, Oh, I have been to seek a wife, She's the joy of my life, She's a young thing and cannot leave her mother.
It's a memory of you I will always treasure. You saved me that winter, even if you didn't realize it.
I do love you, darling Billy, my cherished friend.
Please come see us soon,
Jack
Over mountains
Over trees
Over oceans
Over seas
Across the desert
I'll be there
In a whisper on the wind
On the smile of a new friend
Just think of me
and I'll be there
Don't be afraid, oh my love
I'll be watching you from above
And I'd give all the world tonight
to be with you
Because I'm on your side
and I still care
I may have died
but I've gone nowhere
Just think of me
and I'll be there
On the edge of a waking dream
Over Rivers
over Streams
Through wind and rain
I'll be there
Across the wide, open sky
thousands of miles I'd fly
to be with you
I'll be there
Don't be afraid, oh my love
I'll be watching you from above
And I'd give all the world tonight
to be with you
'Cause I'm on your side
and I still care
I may have died
but I've gone nowhere
Just think of me
and I'll be there
In the breath of a wind that sighs
Oh, there's no need to cry
Just think of me
and I'll be there
"I'll Be There" -- the Escape Club