Page 3 of In Her Sights

During the last hour, Tessa had witnessed the amazing woman shoot corks from bottles without breaking the glass, shoot dimes out of the air, extinguish candle flames, and even rend a playing card in two with only the paper-thin edge facing her. At the moment, her husband, Frank Butler, was lighting a cigarette and placing it between his lips.

Surely she wouldn't . . .

A pistol cracked. The end of the cigarette disappeared without so much as a ruffle of her husband's mustache. Applause erupted from the crowd.

The shotgun Tessa had borrowed from her employer's husband lay across her lap as she sat in a roped-off area with eight other women in an unassuming corner of the Hyde Park Pavilion. Paying guests had the best seats, of course, but even from her tucked-away corner, Tessa found it hard to contain her astonishment. The things Annie Oakley could do didn't seem possible. Yet she was doing them anyway, as if she'd found a way to circumvent normal human limitations. Hope stirred in Tessa's breast.

If thou canst believe, all things are possible.

She'd clung to Jesus's words for the last few years. First, when she'd left home to accept a dressmaking position in Caldwell, and more recently, when she'd decided to win Jackson's affections.

Leaving her home in Coventry—saying goodbye to her mother, her siblings, and Mrs. Hannah Tucker, the mentor who'd taught her everything she knew about plying a needle—had been the hardest thing she'd ever done. Yet the dreams burgeoning inside her demanded she leave the comfortable in search of the possible. Thanks to Mrs. Tucker's recommendation, Tessa had landed a position with Minerva Elliott, a seamstress who'd once dressed the socially elite of Houston before marrying and setting up shop in her husband's hometown of Caldwell. Apprenticing with a woman of Mrs. Elliott's talents and connections was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for a girl who hoped to possess her own shop someday. Well worth a few bouts of homesickness.

Pursuing Jackson Spivey required the same pluck. So what if she had zero experience with weaponry unless one counted a sharp pair of fabric shears? Guns were Jackson's life. His passion. His livelihood. Relationships were built on common interests, and since she was unlikely to stir a passion in him for calico and lace, it was up to her to develop an interest in shooting. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. And gaining Jackson far outweighed any squeamishness she might feel when it came to curving her finger around a trigger.

That's why working with Annie Oakley was so perfect. Tessa could learn to handle weapons and shoot targets with respectable accuracy without harming any of God's creatures. As the sole provider of fresh venison, rabbit, duck, and quail to the Addison Hotel, Jackson was an avid hunter, but surely he would be impressed with nonlethal marksmanship as well. Judging by the exclamations of the audience members around her, people were plenty impressed with Annie's skill, and she hadn't harmed a single living creature in her demonstration.

The lady beside Tessa leaned toward her. "Come on. I think we're supposed to meet Mrs. Butler down by the lake."

Tessa nodded and followed her companion around the grandstand that had been constructed for the occasion, grateful that Betsy Franklin had taken her under her wing for the afternoon. Tessa was the youngest of the ladies who had signed up to spend an hour under the tutelage of one of the best shootists in history. Annie Oakley might be a professional performer, but she also had a practical streak a mile wide, believing the fairer sex should be able to defend themselves instead of relying on men to do it for them. To that end, she offered lessons to females wherever she traveled, teaching them shooting fundamentals. Thank heaven Tessa had seen the article in the Caldwell Register, or she might have missed this golden opportunity.

Once the crowd dispersed, Annie strolled over to her waiting pupils, leaving her husband to pack up their supplies. Mrs. Butler, Tessa reminded herself as the legendary sharpshooter approached. Oakley might be the name the world recognized, but offstage, Annie insisted on being addressed as Mrs. Frank Butler.

"All right, ladies. First things first. How many of you know how to shoot and are just lookin' to improve your accuracy?"

Two ladies raised their hands.

"Any of the rest of you at least know how to load a weapon?"

Three more hands went up.

Annie nodded. "Good. I want you three to teach the others how it's done while I work with these other two at the target range. I want you to load, unload, then load again as many times as you can before I return. Switch weapons, too, so you can practice with pistols, shotguns, and rifles. Remember, treat every gun as if it's loaded and ready to fire, whether it is or not. Never aim at a critter or person unless you intend to shoot it. Keep your barrels pointed at the ground while you load and unload. Respect the gun, but don't be afraid of it. It's a tool, just like a hot iron or a kitchen knife."

Tessa immediately pointed the barrel of her shotgun at the grass, careful to keep her hand well away from the trigger. She knew her weapon wasn't loaded because the attendant had checked and emptied every firearm the ladies brought before allowing them to enter the pavilion. Nevertheless, if Annie Oakley said to point the gun at the ground, Tessa was going to point hers at the ground.

"Before we split up," Annie continued, "let's swap some introductions." She scanned the group, and Tessa's mouth went dry when the legend's eyes met hers. "Give us your name and your reason for being here." She grinned. "I'll start. I'm Mrs. Frank Butler, and I'm here 'cause I would like to see every woman know how to handle guns as naturally as they know how to handle babies. Next?"

"Cara Johnson," said a dark-haired woman who looked to be in her thirties. "My husband passed last year, leavin' me with three young'uns and no way to protect 'em." She patted the rifle she carried. "I figure if I learn to use his gun, it'll be like he's still watchin' over us."

The next woman stepped forward. "I'm Rosa Martinez. I live in a dangerous part of town, and I want to feel safe."

Tessa's heart ached on Rosa's behalf. Being a woman alone was hard. How blessed she was to have Mrs. Winslow's boardinghouse. Hortense Winslow might be a bit of a dragon when it came to curfew and meals, but Tessa had never once felt unsafe in her establishment.

The introductions continued, and Tessa was amazed at the range of motivations expressed. Some wanted to help provide fresh meat for their families, others sought protection, and one woman apparently wanted to deflate the ego of a brother who'd gotten a big head after winning their local shooting contest two years in a row.

When Tessa's turn came, she felt a little foolish about her reason for coming, but she wasn't about to lie to Annie Oakley, so she lifted her chin and voiced the truth. "My name is Tessa James, and I want to learn to shoot so I can get myself a husband."

A few titters of laughter erupted around the circle along with a quip about her bringing the right weapon for a shotgun wedding. Tessa's face burned, but she told herself it didn't matter what these ladies thought. She'd likely never see them again, anyhow. Jackson's opinion was the one that mattered, and if she had to endure a bit of teasing to gain the skills needed to win his heart, then so be it.

"Nothin' wrong with usin' a gun to prove your value to a man." Annie walked up to Tessa and placed a hand on her shoulder. The woman stood a few inches shorter than Tessa, but the confidence emanating from her would rival that of an Amazon. "That's how I gained Mr. Butler's interest, after all."

She smiled at Tessa, and some of the embarrassment faded. Yet the way Annie looked at her made the skin at her nape tingle. It felt a bit like a target had just sprouted from Tessa's forehead, one that made Mrs. Butler's trigger finger itch.

Thankfully, Annie released Tessa's shoulder and the odd light in her eye disappeared. "All right. You two, come with me." She pointed to the experienced shooters of the group and marched toward the trees where an assortment of targets waited.

The hour flew by. Tessa loaded and unloaded every gun in their collection at least five times each, learning how to match ammunition to weapon. When it came time to shoot, she quickly discovered that despite Annie's prowess with and preference for the shotgun, it was not the weapon for Tessa. Her bruised shoulder ached as if a permanent dent had been smashed into her flesh. Even after Annie demonstrated the proper stance and gave her instructions for how to absorb the recoil, Tessa couldn't find any enthusiasm for the heavy weapon. Betsy had allowed Tessa several turns with her revolver, and while Tessa definitely preferred it to the shotgun, her aim remained atrocious. Probably because her arms felt like they'd popped the seams attaching them to her shoulders and were fixing to fall off. Apparently toting bolts of fabric hadn't adequately prepared her muscles for the rigors of target practice.

"You'll do better with a smaller-caliber weapon. Here. Try this one." Annie appeared at her side and handed her a pistol with a beautiful, pink-tinted pearl handle.