I grew up listening to the stories of my honorary grandmother, Florence Heritage Wiley. Here’s one of my favorites.
As a child, Gramma, as we called her, lived on a farm about a few miles outside the town of Coffeyville, Kansas.
One day, a lone man rode up to the gate, and Gramma’s father walked down to talk to him. In those days, it was customary to invite wayfaring strangers to supper, and even to spend the night, but the man didn’t approach the house.
He rode toward the barn instead.
There, he stabled his horse and settled in for the night.
Gramma’s father, a wise man, as the next story will tell, returned to his family.
Everyone wanted to know why the stranger didn’t come inside, at least for supper.
According to Mr. Heritage, the man was being pursued and didn’t want to endanger the family by staying in the house.
I’m pretty sure a plate of supper was taken to him, probably by the head of the family.
What was this mysterious man’s name?
Jessie James.
