Page 8 of In Her Sights

Tessa squeezed her friend's hand. "Well, I can't blame you for sticking with the tried-and-true."

"I'm not in a hurry. Too many girls think marrying is their only option for having a meaningful life. I have a career I enjoy, good friends, and the love of family. If the time is ever right for something more, God will let me know."

"You're a wise woman, Laura Marshall, and far more patient than I am."

"Yes, well, it's easier to be patient before one finds her true love than after." She grinned and started dragging Tessa toward the workroom door. "Now, enough talk. Daylight's a-wasting, as my granny used to say. Get out there and get your man. I'll take care of closing up the shop."

Heart pounding from a combination of nerves and excitement, Tessa gave her friend a quick hug, did up the last two buttons on her coat, then strode through the door, ready to take command of her future.

Opting for the long way around the courthouse, she walked down Echols Street past the gun shop. The chances of Jackson noticing her passing were remote, but remote was better than nothing. Who knew? He might happen to glance up at just the right moment and catch sight of her. Seeing her could jog his memory about her invitation. And that invitation might then bear fruit. Didn't scripture say all things were possible to him that believeth? Might as well make it easier for Providence to do its work.

Striding with purpose, she left town behind. In fifteen minutes, open country stretched in front of her, the autumnal color palette pleasing her senses. The browns and yellows of dormant grass on the ground mixed with the greens, golds, and reds of the trees. A cool breeze stirred up fallen leaves, adding music and movement to the air. When the old schoolhouse came into view, its gray, weathered wood looked drab compared to the vibrant tones of nature. Yet it beckoned to Tessa with hopeful promise.

Laura had told her that one of the schoolmarms who'd taught here had planted dozens of daffodil bulbs in the field behind the schoolhouse. One wouldn't know it to look at the empty field now, but come spring, glorious yellow blooms would dance across the earth.

Tessa closed her eyes for a moment and envisioned those blooms. She inhaled and imagined their fragrance. They waited, beneath the earth, ready to burst forth in glory when the time was right.

Patience and courage will illuminate her path. The words from the pistol's note floated through her mind. Love could not be rushed. She must be patient. Trust the Lord to open the right door at the right time. Yet she must be bold, too. Courageous. Willing to take chances and seek opportunities. It was a paradox she hadn't quite deciphered, but she felt in her bones that today was a day for boldness.

Marching up to the dilapidated building, she flung open the door and announced her presence. "Hello. Anyone here?" Her loud call echoed through the empty rafters and sent a mouse or two scurrying for cover. "I'm going to be target shooting out back," she warned as she moved through the schoolroom. "You might want to vacate the premises. I'm as liable to miss the target as hit it, so you'll be safer elsewhere for the time being."

Satisfied that the resident vermin had been duly notified of the danger, she retreated from the building and traipsed around to the rear, where she'd stashed some additional materials after church yesterday. One of the widowers she did mending for had fixed up a cross frame for her, twining together a long broom handle with a shorter branch he'd found in his yard. It lay right where she'd left it, leaned up against the back of the schoolhouse. The perfect scarecrow skeleton. All she had to do now was dress him. Quickly. This was one target she didn't want Jackson to see her shoot.

Tessa opened her carpetbag, pulled out her giant wad of cotton batting, and unrolled it. Poking a hole in the middle of the padding, she draped it over the neck of her scarecrow frame so it hung like a thick tunic over the outstretched arms to form a torso. Then she collected the shirt she'd sewn. The one that matched the plaid of Jackson's favorite flannel shirt. The very one he'd been wearing today when she'd visited the gun shop.

Reaching the shirt behind the frame, she slid a sleeve over one arm, then attempted to stretch it to fit over the other.

"You know," she said between grunts as she wrestled with her uncooperative dress dummy, "this would be a lot easier if you had elbows."

After half-strangling the poor scarecrow, she managed to get the second sleeve in place. She smoothed the bunched batting to keep her Jackson stand-in from looking lumpy, then braced him against the schoolhouse wall and surveyed her handiwork. He had no head. No legs, either. But he did have a heart, a red calico applique sewn just to the left of the button placket. That's where she'd be aiming.

The pistol's instructions had been vague at best regarding how this process was supposed to work. She didn't need the gun to lead her to her true love because she already knew his identity. That's why she'd decided to treat the pistol as Cupid would his bow and take symbolic aim at Jackson's heart. Though the longer she stared at her half-dressed scarecrow, the more foolish she felt. What if Jackson saw it?

Heart thumping, Tessa whirled to check the countryside behind her. Nothing more than grass and trees. She peered down each side of the schoolhouse as well, not wanting her guest of honor to catch her before she was ready. Surely he'd call out to let her know he was approaching and give her ample time to toss her coat over the embarrassing evidence. Maybe she shouldn't have invited him today. Maybe she should have waited until after she'd activated the pistol's promise.

Well, she couldn't undo what had been done, and the point was probably moot anyway. Jackson wasn't going to come. He'd simply been too polite to refuse her invitation outright since others would have witnessed her rejection. Just to be sure, though, she cupped her hands around her mouth and gave a good holler.

"Jackson? Are you here? I'm about to start shooting!"

No answer called back. Just as well. She had work to do.

Tessa stripped out of her coat and draped it over a low-hanging tree branch on a nearby oak. Hunkering down by her carpetbag, she pulled out the mahogany gun case and ran a hand over the smooth lid. "I hope you are more than a hoax," she whispered as she reached into her skirt pocket and extracted the coin purse that held the brass key needed to unlock the case.

She fit the key into the lock and turned it until a satisfying click echoed in the air. Then, as she'd been taught, she loaded each chamber of the revolver and put a handful of bullets into her pocket to save her time in reloading later. Before she stood, she slipped the note from the pocket in the lid lining and read the instructions one last time.

One need only fit her hand to the grip and open her heart to activate the promise for which this pistol was fashioned—the promise of true love.

It didn't say anything about shooting the weapon, but she figured it couldn't hurt. Cupid didn't hold on to his arrows and think romantic thoughts. He shot his darts to accomplish his matchmaking. Of course, Cupid was a mythological creature who didn't actually exist, but he was the only model at her disposal.

Tessa rose from her crouch then paced off a distance of about twenty feet and turned to face the schoolhouse. Lifting the pistol in front of her, she adjusted her hold on the mother-of-pearl grip and closed her eyes.

I open my heart to the promise of true love. Her lashes lifted, and she focused on the scarecrow figure in front of her, but a smidgeon of doubt kept her from taking the shot. She squeezed her eyes closed again to offer clarification—true love with Jackson Spivey. Better be as specific as possible. Wouldn't want the pistol to lead her to some other beau.

Positioning herself the way Annie had taught her, Tessa took aim at the heart on Jackson's shirt. Letting out her breath, she pulled the trigger. And missed. Rats. Judging by the smattering of woodchips that had flown, she'd missed the shirt entirely and lodged her first bullet into the siding of the schoolhouse.

Setting her chin, she raised the gun again and shifted her aim slightly to the right. Then clarity dawned. Why was she making this so hard on herself? There was no rule that stated she had to shoot from twenty paces. Why not halve the distance along with the difficulty?

She strode forward, and her heart lightened at the prospect of nearly guaranteed success. Wanting to erase her past failure, she released the cylinder, rotated it until she found the empty chamber, then filled it with a cartridge from her pocket. She snapped the cylinder back into place and positioned herself for a fresh start.