Girl with a Gun

by Kari Bovee

  Annie held up the ace of diamonds for everyone to see and rushed to her mark, holding the card at arm’s length. Frank snapped up one of the rifles, aimed, and fired a hole clear through the diamond. The crowd whooped and hollered.

  Next, Annie held another playing card, its face perpendicular to the ground. Frank peered through the sight, paused, then raised his head, as if refocusing—something he’d never done in practice. He again lowered his eye to the sight, aimed, fired, and split the card half. The crowd bellowed with cheers and laughter.

  Frank ran toward Annie and before she could stop him, he swept her up and swung her around in a circle, squeezing her so tight, she could barely breathe. The firmness of his arms and the aromatic mixture of his sweat and musky cologne jarred her in a way she didn’t expect. She wanted to pull away from him, tell him to get off her, but she didn’t, surprised at the giddy feeling in her head as his arms held her tight. It must be the excitement of performing in front of the audience for the first time, she thought. Annie put her druthers aside and let the wave of the crowd’s adoration crash over her, soaking her to her core.

  No longer Annie Mosey from Greenville, Ohio, she was now Annie Oakley, “Little Miss Sure Shot,” star of Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show.

  Annie performed flawlessly for the next several shows, her aim sure and straight. Buck seemed to love the adoration and affection the people lavished upon him after every performance.

  “Heck,” Bobby said after one of Annie’s acts, “we could become powerful rich just selling tickets for people to give Buck a pat on the nose.”

  Bobby, LeFleur, the Colonel, and especially Kimi seemed excited about Annie’s contribution to the show, but Frank grew increasingly aloof. Annie knew it bothered him that she’d become the crowd favorite, but as a team they sold a lot of tickets and made the show a boatload of money.

  After one of her performances, Mr. LeFleur called her to a meeting in his tent. The show was a resounding success; she couldn’t imagine what the manager wanted. When she went inside, the Colonel, Twila, Frank, and a robust girl of about thirteen all turned their attention toward her.

  “Annie,” LeFleur pulled her toward the group, “this is Miss Lillian Smith, a local sharpshooter.”

  “I go by Lillie,” the girl said, barely glancing at Annie.

  Annie glanced at Frank, reclining in a chair, his legs crossed at the ankles. He raised his chin and winked at her, and she returned the greeting with a wave of her hand. Twila approached Lillie and caressed a lock of the girl’s long, curly, brown hair—her only pleasing feature. The Colonel said nothing, but the pinched look on his face indicated his displeasure.

  “Lillie is Twila’s adopted sister.” LeFleur inclined his head toward Annie. “We’d like to add her to the act. How would you feel about that?”

  Annie pressed her lips together, shrugged a shoulder.

  “Will my wages change?”

  Her family needed all the money she earned to keep their nearly foreclosed family farm—and they all knew that.

  “All will stay the same.”

  “Then I guess that would be fine.”

  Annie had no reason to complain, but something in Lillie’s demeanor irritated her. Perhaps Lillie wouldn’t prove as prickly as she appeared.

  “Lillie will be bunking with you and Kimi.” LeFleur smiled.

  A sour feeling curdled in Annie’s stomach, but she smiled back at the manager anyway.

  When Annie got back to her tent, she heard yelling and arguing from inside. She walked in to find Kimi and Bobby at odds over something. At Annie’s sudden appearance, Kimi turned her back to both of them, burying her face in her hands. Bobby, his cheeks mottled pink and his face grim, tipped his hat to Annie and stormed out of the tent.

  Annie glanced down at the mound of fabric, beads, feathers, and other costume accessories on the table. Kimi spun back around and feigned a cheery expression, her smile crooked and false, the life in her eyes dimmed like the flame of a dying candle. Crescents formed below her lower lids and her cheeks flushed with color.

  “What’s the matter, Kimi?”

  “It’s nothing. I must be tired. You know, the baby and all.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help? It looks like you have a lot to do here. I’m a pretty good seamstress myself, although my sister, Hulda is better.” The words tumbled out of Annie’s mouth in a rush. It didn’t seem right—this girl, this woman, this mother, working for her.

  “I have another person to sew for now. It’s just a bit overwhelming.”

  “Yes, the new girl, Lillie. Really, I can help you with the costumes. I have nothing to do when I’m not practicing. It would make me feel so much better.”

  “I could use the help. Sometimes Winona wants nothing but for me to play with her.” Kimi sniffed and rubbed the back of her hand across her nose.

  Annie’s heart warmed. It would be good to use her hands again.

  “I wanted you to take a look at this color.” Kimi rose from her chair. She turned to pick up the bolt of fabric lying on the end of the table.

  Black, blue, and yellow bruises stained the skin on Kimi’s upper back.

  “Your shoulders!” Annie gasped.

  Kimi gently picked up the bolt of fabric and sat back down, her eyes trained on the table, avoiding Annie’s.

  “What happened to you, Kimi? Who did this?”

  Kimi pulled in a breath and raised her large, sorrowful brown eyes to Annie’s.

  “It doesn’t matter. Please, I don’t want to discuss it.”

  “Was it Bobby?” The words came out of Annie’s mouth before she could stop them. He seemed the obvious culprit, given his ill temper a few minutes ago.

  “No! Not Bobby, never Bobby. Please, I don’t wish to discuss this.”

  An alarm, like the sound of cast iron kettles being struck with hammers, rang in Annie’s head, remembering all too well the kind of pain Kimi might be experiencing.

  At the trial two years ago, Annie had felt petrified and enraged at the same time when the sheriff questioned her, urging her to tell her story.

  “Let’s start from the beginning, Miss Mosey. Did you work for Mr. Vernon McCrimmon?”

  “Yes, sir, I did.”

  “In what capacity?”

  “I was hired out by the Darke County Infirmary to take care of his ailing wife and child.”

  “How long did you work there?”

  “One very long year, sir.”

  Snickering throughout the courthouse quieted when the sheriff lifted his gavel.

  “Did they treat you well?”

  “No, sir.” Annie clasped her trembling hands together in her lap.

  “She’s a liar!” McCrimmon shouted, jumping up from his chair, his bony body swaying with drunkenness, reeking of moonshine.

  “Silence!” Sheriff Brody clanged his gavel down so hard the sound block bounced. “Mr. McCrimmon, you are to sit still and remain quiet until I ask for your testimony. Now, please tell me, Miss Mosey, in what way were you mistreated?”

  Annie coiled her hands into fists and held them steady on each side of her knees.

  “They beat me. Especially him. They would lock me in a closet for days. No food, no water. Once, they threw me out into the snow in the middle of the night, wearing only my nightdress.”

  Annie shuddered at the memory of that night, and her fear that she might die like her father did from the aftereffects of being frozen in a storm.

  “Kimi, I understand. I’ve been in your position before. Please let me help you.”

  Kimi pressed a hand to her mouth, as if debating whether to speak.

  “I suffered beatings from a man I worked for, Vernon McCrimmon. He abused Buck, too. I know what you are going through, and you don’t have to put up with it, Kimi. We are all equal in God’s eyes.”

  Kimi turned her head away from Annie, hiding her face.

  Interrupting them, Lillie showed up at the tent with several of the crewmen.

>   “Boys, put my bed over here, by the entrance. Never know when company might drop in.” She gave her helpers a mischievous, deep-dimpled grin.

  When they returned carrying a small wardrobe, the noise woke Winona and she began to wail. Kimi rushed over to pick up the crying child.

  Lillie thrust her chin toward Kimi, but fixed her eyes on Annie. “What’s she doing here?”

  “She lives here. She makes our costumes, helps take care of us.”

  The baby’s crying intensified. Kimi bundled baby Winona close to her chest and wove her way between them to slip out of the tent. Lillie grabbed her by the arm, and Kimi looked into Lillie’s hardened face with surprise.

  “Don’t test me, squaw.”

  Kimi shook her off and scooted past them through the tent flap.

  “They aren’t sleeping in here with us, are they?” Lillie, placing her lace-clad fists on her hips, fired a look at Annie. “We’ll have to sleep with one eye open. Damn Indians.”

  “They are. And you’ll not speak to or about Kimi, or any of her people, in such a demeaning way in my presence. They are just as important to the show as we are. Do you understand?”

  “So I not only have to share the stage and my tent with the do-gooder Annie Oakley, I have to share it with a squaw and her half-breed?”

  “You do.” Annie stepped forward and glared hard in Lillie’s eyes. “And, like I told you, watch your mouth. It would benefit you to be friendly.”

  Lillie snorted.

  “You threatening me? I don’t think that’s a good idea, Miss Oakley. And as far as being friendly goes, I’m friendly, all right—just ask the boys.”

  Later that night, Annie, LeFleur, Frank, and many others met at a saloon in St. Louis to celebrate the success of the show.

  Annie wanted to ride Buck into town, but LeFleur insisted he escort Annie in his horse-drawn carriage.

  They entered the establishment to find Frank Butler entertaining the crowd with his effusive charm. His relaxed posture—an elbow resting on the brass railing of the bar, and his long legs crossed at the ankles—showed his clear understanding of his power to enchant. He leaned closer to a group of men and two women to emphasize a point, and they all laughed, their eyes and attention completely focused on the famous sharpshooter. He ran a hand through his thick mane of blond hair, like a lion showing off to the pride. Annie smirked, seeing through his vain pretense, but then frowned when Lillie squeezed her way into the group to whisper something in Frank’s ear.

  Several polished and poised ladies at a nearby table shook their heads in disapproval as Lillie blew smoke rings into the air, let out a shrieking laugh, and wrapped her arm around Frank’s shoulders. When she felt Frank’s gaze on her, Annie turned towards LeFleur and pretended to be engaged in conversation with him, but she could feel Frank’s eyes lingering. She didn’t want him to see her observing him in his glory, or to see him flirting openly with Lillie. He’d do anything to rankle me.

  Performing with him in the arena had proven surprisingly easy, but outside of the act, he made it known to her and everyone else that he remained a celebrity—and deservedly so—but very much out of her league, professionally and personally.

  A gentleman tapped a glass with a spoon and asked for everyone’s attention.

  “To the shootists and players of Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show.” He raised a glass.

  Chief Sitting Bull and a group of Indians at a nearby table raised their tankards of beer in the man’s direction. Annie caught the Chief’s eye and he smiled and lifted his cup again to her, and she returned the tribute with a lift of her own glass filled with sarsaparilla.

  “To the expertly talented star of the show, Frank Butler,” the man continued.

  The crowd raised their glasses and cheered. Frank removed his hat with a flourish, bowed at the waist, and flashed his trademark smile as he popped back up. Annie couldn’t help the small grin that crept across her face at the spectacle of Frank in his element, surrounded by his fans. How she longed to possess his sunny confidence.

  “A toast to the newest member of the group, rifle sharpshooter Miss Lillian Smith.”

  Lillie removed the cigar from her mouth and raised her whiskey glass to the group. A smaller round of applause circulated throughout the room.

  “And last, but not least, a toast to the expert and accomplished mounted shooter, Miss Annie Oakley!”

  Loud whoops and hollers, whistles and shouts filled the room. Annie wanted to clamp her hands over her ears. She smiled and waved to the crowd. It felt good to be so appreciated.

  She sensed Frank’s eyes on her, and his hard gaze made a chill snake up her back. He snatched his hat off the bar and strode out of the restaurant, Lillie trailing behind him.

  LeFleur and Annie left after midnight, returning to camp in his carriage. Her limbs and mind heavy with fatigue, Annie stared out the window as the carriage slipped through the trees in the inky dark of night. She felt calmer, the adrenaline from all the attention abating, but couldn’t stop thinking about Frank’s cold glare, and Lillie fawning over him, acting like a fool.

  By the time they got back to Forest Park, few people stirred in the camp. Some of the Indian players sat at campfires outside their tipis, smoking pipes and playing cards, but most had retired to their beds.

  LeFleur escorted Annie to her tent, his hand firm on her elbow.

  “You’ve become the sweetheart of the Wild West Show.” He turned to face her. “I knew you’d be a success. You were worth every penny of that ten dollars I paid to enter you in the Greenville shooting contest and more, my dear, far more.”

  Annie met his gaze.

  “Thank you, Mr. LeFleur, I’m afraid all that fuss rather tired me out, so I will say goodnight.”

  Suddenly, he drew closer and leaned his head toward hers, as if he meant to kiss her. Annie stepped back, her hands gently pushing him away.

  “What’s this, Mr. LeFleur?” She thought him handsome but felt no attraction to this much older man—and had done nothing to encourage him.

  “Ah, nothing. Well . . .” He planted a kiss on her forehead. “You go rest. We’ll see you in the morning.”

  Her brain swimming with the effects of her new celebrity and LeFleur’s boldness, Annie stepped inside the darkness of her tent and made a beeline for the soft featherbed she’d come to love. When her foot caught and she went sprawling, she reached out to break her fall and felt the unmistakable firmness of a human jaw beneath her hand.

  Heart jangling, her skirt tangled around her legs, Annie scrambled to get upright. She fumbled in the darkness trying to get to her desk. Once there, she grabbed a candlestick and scrabbled her hands along the desktop for a box of matches. She found them, her fingers trembling so violently she failed to light the flame three times. Finally, it caught.

  As soon as light illuminated the tent, Annie spun around to see what she had stumbled over and gasped—Kimi lay motionless on the ground.

  “Kimi! Oh, my God, Kimi!” Annie placed a finger on the girl’s neck, seeking a pulse, and couldn’t find one. She laid a hand on Kimi’s forehead. The skin had gone cold.

  Kimi was dead.

  CHAPTER 4

  “Spring Heat Wave Gives Way to Possible Thunderstorms”

  St. Louis Times – April 12, 1885

  “Where’s the baby?” Annie said aloud.

  Winona’s cry from the crib answered her. Stepping over Kimi’s lifeless body, Annie made her way over to the baby.

  This couldn’t be happening.

  Annie’s head spun. She felt detached from her body, suspended in time as if in a dream. She had to get to the baby, yet her feet felt like lead, her limbs heavy, the air in the tent thick as water as she fought her way through to get to Winona.

  Finally, she reached the crib and scooped the bundled Winona up into her arms. The child wailed even louder, breaking Annie out of her stupor. Annie bounced her up and down, trying to quiet her. Walking back over to Kimi, her mind still foggy,
her heart pounding, she looked down at Kimi’s face. The dewy, honey-colored skin had gone grey with a hint of blue. A swath of straight black hair covered the chin, and the eyes stared open, their light snuffed out.

  Annie choked back a sob and hurried to the opening of the tent, holding Winona close to her chest, the baby’s frantic crying piercing her ears.

  “Somebody, help!”

  Annie’s scream brought an immediate response. LeFleur rushed over, and Annie slipped back inside her tent. LeFleur stepped through and saw Kimi on the floor.

  “What’s this? What happened?”

  “I don’t know. I came in to go to bed and fell over her. I don’t know how long she’s been here. Help her!” The moment the last two words came out of her mouth, she realized the absurdity of them.

  LeFleur knelt down and ran his hand down Kimi’s face, closing her eyes. He then lifted her gently to the bed.

  “I just can’t imagine what happened.” A sting started behind Annie’s eyelids, her voice shaking. “Kimi, Kimi, Kimi.”

  LeFleur stood back from the body, one hand tucked into his pocket, the other cupping his chin, his face grey.

  Winona’s urgent yowl snapped Annie’s mind back into focus, and she hugged the baby close, swaying from one foot to the other, alternating the motion with bouncing up and down. In moments, Winona’s cries turned to whimpers. Annie took the corner of the blanket and dabbed at the baby’s face.

  “Shhh,” she murmured. “It’s alright, Winona.”

  Annie looked up to see the Colonel and Twila enter the tent, several others on their heels. They all crowded around Kimi, gasping, talking, their voices raised in alarm.

  “What happened?” The Colonel shouted over the din.

  “Hush, everyone, stand back.” LeFleur urged people to move aside.

  The gathering crowd took a few steps back, still craning their necks to catch a glimpse of Kimi.

  “Tell me what’s wrong with her. What is this, LeFleur?” The Colonel rushed forward.