Girl with a Gun

by Kari Bovee

  They all transitioned quickly to perform Frank’s famous card trick. Annie and Lillie lined up, each extending her left or right arm, holding a playing card flat between her thumb and forefinger. To Annie’s relief, Frank seemed to be gaining back his shooting momentum and hit his targets dead on. His smile made all the women in the audience swoon—his western cowboy charm never failed to fascinate the crowds.

  Annie lifted her gaze from Frank back to the audience and saw three women pointing at her, speaking behind their hands. Uneasiness settled into her bones.

  Frank lit his cigarette and patiently waited. Lillie fired and the cigarette exploded from Frank’s mouth. He held his arms up, mugging to the crowd, making them laugh. He lit another one, turned toward the other side of the arena, and Annie fired, smashing the cigarette into nothingness.

  The three of them came together, held hands, and bowed for the pleased crowd. Annie again noticed strange, disapproving expressions on some of the faces. The stagecoach came barreling across the field to pick them up. She and Lillie hopped in through the opened door and hung out of either side, waving to the crowd.

  They circled and came back for Frank, who hopped onto the stagecoach roof, arms outstretched, pumping his hands in the air to gin up more applause. The team of six galloped out of the arena. When they cleared the gates, Annie glanced over at Lillie, who had a bemused smile on her face.

  “What?” Annie asked.

  “Theft and attempted murder? You? I never would have guessed.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You obviously haven’t read the newspaper this morning.”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  The coach, now outside the arena, slowed to a stop. Lillie flipped up the door handle and then turned to fix Annie with a raised eyebrow and that same, smug smile.

  “Well then, maybe you better.”

  CHAPTER 10

  “Annie Oakley an American Inspiration. Four Girls Enter Shooting Contest Today in Cleveland.”

  Cleveland Post – April 17, 1885

  As Annie walked toward her tent, some children rushed up and handed her autograph books to sign, their faces shining with joy at meeting their idol. Their mothers stood back, frowning, something Annie had not experienced. Women usually felt a connection with her, rooted the loudest for her. After the children scampered off, leaving Annie alone, the strangers staring and talking in whispers behind gloved hands slowly moved away. Swallowing hard, she made a beeline for her tent.

  She pulled the tent flap aside and entered to find LeFleur standing next to her vanity, and the Colonel sitting on her vanity stool. The scenario would have been comical, but the expressions on their faces sucked any hint of humor out of the situation. LeFleur handed her a newspaper.

  “Wild West Show Shooting Star Annie Oakley’s Wild Past” it read. Annie felt the color drain from her face and her limbs grow weak. She read further:

  According to an anonymous informant, Buffalo Bill’s newest shooting sensation has some secrets in her closet. After a romantic tryst, Miss Annie Oakley allegedly shot a man and stole his horse. Looks like the petite darling of the famously popular show ain’t so sweet.

  Annie lowered the paper and raised her eyes to the Colonel’s and LeFleur’s expectant faces.

  “I don’t know what to say. It’s not true. Well, it’s not all true.”

  “Not all true? We didn’t expect any of it to be true. Explain yourself, Miss Oakley.” The Colonel’s pale blue eyes assessed hers.

  Annie didn’t like the disapproving tone of the Colonel’s voice. Her mouth went dry as dust and her mind reeled, making her feel faint. She walked toward her bed, forcing her legs to carry her there. She sat down on the edge of the mattress and placed her hands on her knees to steady herself.

  “Well?” the Colonel said.

  “I certainly have not had any romantic trysts.” Annie met the Colonel’s eyes.

  “We knew that couldn’t possibly be true,” LeFleur said, palpable relief in his voice.

  She could tell he wanted to rescue her, but she knew she’d have to do it herself.

  “I did take the horse. Buck. His owner, Mr. McCrimmon, the man following me, abused him, whipped him, and starved him till he was near death. The court awarded Buck to me for the price of $1, which I laid on the table, but Mr. McCrimmon refused to accept payment. If I’d left Buck with him, he would have killed him. I couldn’t let that happen.”

  “Is he the man you shot?” the Colonel asked.

  “Yes. I did shoot him, but I only nicked him in the ankle. He was beating Buck and came at me when I tried to stop him, he . . . he . . .” Annie’s throat closed and she looked into Mr. LeFleur’s eyes.

  “Then it was a clear-cut case of self-defense.”

  “Yes sir, Sheriff Brody said it was self-defense and that was the end of the matter.”

  LeFleur and the Colonel exchanged glances.

  Annie leaned forward, trying to keep the desperation out of her voice.

  “He said I ruined his life, and he came to seek revenge. I’ve been afraid that he could be the one making Buck sick. He might even be trying to kill him.”

  “And maybe he cornered one of the reporters and gave them the false story about Annie.” LeFleur looked over at the Colonel.

  “Maybe.” The Colonel ran a hand down his perfectly trimmed beard and let out a growl. “But this has Carver’s stink all over it. Maybe Carver bumped into this McCrimmon fellow at an opportune time, likely in some drinking establishment. The man has been out to get me ever since we parted company.”

  Annie knit her brows in confusion.

  “The Colonel is speaking of Dick Carver,” LeFleur said. “The show was once called ‘Buffalo Bill and Dick Carver’s Rocky Mountain and Prairie Exhibition,’ until Carver got himself into a financial mess and Bill here bought him out. Carver blames the Colonel for his misfortunes and has been out for revenge ever since we took over the show.”

  The Colonel chuckled. “Could be him, out there skunking around, trying to find manure to fling at me. Unfortunately, our popularity—now your popularity—” he nodded at Annie, “has made us vulnerable to him, and to others. It could be that Carver struck up a conversation with this McCrimmon fellow and they hatched a plan together . . . or it’s all Carver’s handiwork. Either way, it’s not your fault, Annie, and I’m not about to let the press ruin your good reputation.”

  “I’m so sorry,” she said.

  “That’s show business, sweetheart.” The Colonel stood, grabbed the lapels of his tawny buckskin jacket and snapped the collar forward to straighten it. “Comes with the territory. I just needed to hear your side of the story. Now, don’t you fret. Quite honestly, I’m more worried about that horse of yours than anything else. Does he seem to be improving?”

  Annie nodded, not entirely convinced.

  “Might have to get you a new mount.” The Colonel strode past her toward the opening of the tent.

  “Oh, no sir, that won’t be necessary. Buck will be fine, I promise.”

  The Colonel didn’t answer, just paused to tilt his head toward the tent’s entrance, indicating for LeFleur to follow him outside. They stood just outside the tent, exchanging a few words. Annie tried but couldn’t hear their conversation.

  When LeFleur returned, Annie went to him, wringing her hands.

  “What should I do?”

  “Nothing. We’re going to ignore this and keep moving forward.”

  LeFleur took her hand and held it between both of his.

  “I can’t be without Buck, Mr. LeFleur. I don’t know what I would do if . . . ”

  “Don’t worry yourself too much, Annie. Let’s just see if we can help Buck feel better. Get to the bottom of his ailment.”

  “I’m grateful. Thank you. But what about McCrimmon? He’s caused so much trouble—because of me.”

  “Well, now, we don’t know for sure that this was his doing, but even if it is, this isn’t a situation we can’t
handle. Carver’s tried before to damage our reputation, but the crowds still love us, and they keep coming, which is all we care about.”

  “Why is Mr. Carver out for the Colonel?” Annie looked into his eyes. LeFleur released her hands and took a small step backward.

  “He’s always getting riled up about the Colonel. He’s dug and dug to find something to slander the Colonel but hasn’t been able to uncover anything detrimental. He’s likely the reason reporters were buzzing around after our last show, and it’s possible McCrimmon approached one of them and purposefully distorted the facts of your story. They’re both scoundrels, not worthy of our time.”

  “I wouldn’t expect Mr. McCrimmon to be that smart, but someone could have drawn the story out of him, if they knew he knew me. He came to St. Louis to ruin me.”

  “I’ll find a way to deal with McCrimmon. You just continue to perform at your best, and people will see you for who you are. Believe me.”

  “Thank you, Mr. LeFleur.” Annie stepped closer and placed her hand on his arm. Just as she pulled her hand back, LeFleur captured it again in his hands.

  “I will take care of you, Annie, if you let me.”

  Pinpricks ran up her neck. She didn’t want anyone taking care of her—and LeFleur’s pleading eyes made her want to run. He’d misinterpreted her moment of vulnerability in the worst way.

  “Mr. LeFleur, you are a married man with a wife at home.”

  “How do you know about my wife?” His dark eyes registered shock.

  “Twila mentioned it to me yesterday.”

  “Of course she did. She can’t stand to see anyone happy.”

  “Happy?”

  “Yes, Annie. You make me happy. Being around you makes me happy. My wife is my wife in name only, she’s has been very ill for years.”

  “But if she’s sick, how does she get on without you?”

  “She comes from a very wealthy family who insist on providing a companion and nurses who are always with her. We’ve all accepted that I have a show to run, and even if I were at home with her, I wouldn’t be very useful.”

  “But surely you love her.”

  He shook his head. “Our families have known each other for decades. I’d always known we were expected to marry, and although I was quite fond of her, it wasn’t a matter of love.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.” Annie turned away from him.

  “Annie—” LeFleur rushed to her, firmly grasped her by the shoulders, and pulled her back to his chest. He breathed into her hair. Annie wriggled out of his grasp, her heart pounding.

  “Mr. LeFleur, you must know by now that I don’t return your affection. I’ve come between man and wife once before—”

  “McCrimmon? You and that man were lovers?”

  “No, no, no,” Annie spun around, shaking her head. “I never encouraged him, but I remained in their house after he made advances, and one day he—he—”

  “He forced himself on you?” Anger tinged the edge of his words.

  “He tried. I did whatever I could to stay out of his way, but I should have left sooner.”

  “If that man laid his hands on you, it wasn’t your fault. I’ll make sure he doesn’t bother you anymore.”

  Suddenly, they weren’t alone—to Annie’s relief, Bobby had entered the tent. He seemed uncomfortable at finding them together.

  “Come in, boy. What is it?” LeFleur said.

  Bobby stepped forward, his body tense, a piece of paper crumpled between his hands. “Excuse me, Miss Oakley. I have a letter for you.” Bobby handed it to her and hurried out of the tent.

  Annie recognized her mother’s handwriting.

  “It’s from home. Do you mind if I read this in private?” She held the letter next to her heart.

  “Yes, of course.” LeFleur brushed his hand against her shoulder, as he left.

  Dearest Annie,

  I am sorry to report distressing news. Joshua has been drinking again and lost his position at the Forge. John Henry and Hulda are miserable with him around, and some days my headaches are so bad, I don’t leave my bed. The money you send is a like a gift from God, but this last time, Joshua went to the Mercantile, and convinced Mr. Shaw to give him the money, to bring to me. We barely saw a penny. Mr. Shaw promised to safeguard your future letters and parcels, but we are now short on the mortgage, so whatever you can spare will be sent directly to the bank. The folk in North Star who read the newspapers say you have become a sensation. I’m proud of you, Annie, and don’t you worry about us. Joshua won’t lift a hand to any of us; he’s basically a milksop. Don’t go letting some cowboy steal your heart, as I miss you dearly.

  Your loving Mother

  Annie paced in the small area next to her bed and raised a hand to her throat in exasperation, her pulse thudding faster and faster. Everything will be fine, she tried to tell herself, but why did she feel so helpless? Her family’s suffering, her tainted reputation, and her uncertainty about Kimi’s death felt like an anvil settling on her chest. Her hands went cold.

  Annie tossed open the tent flap and ran to the barn. She found Buck standing in his pen, his head drooping and one of his back legs cocked. He sensed her, raised his head and whinnied. Not wanting to startle him, Annie slowed her pace. She climbed through the fence railings, and reaching him, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed it to her face. The scent of dust and hay and horse reminded her of deep-blue mountains, fields of flowers, and dense pine forests, instantly calming her.

  She breathed deeper, inhaling Buck’s scent, feeling the warmth of the sun radiating from his golden coat. A rumbling nicker from deep inside his lungs provided a welcome vibration, soothing her body. His tail swished at a fly and flicked against her arm, and she ran her hands along his neck, in deliberate, meaningful strokes.

  She sensed someone behind her and turned to see Frank, his arms resting on the fence railing.

  “Rough day?”

  Emotions blocked her throat. Annie nodded and continued to run her hands down Buck’s neck.

  “I’ve never seen anyone love a horse like you love that one.”

  Annie smiled at him, gratified that he’d seen her deep affection for Buck.

  “He’s a lucky chap.” Frank placed a spear of grass between his lips, chewed on the end. “Want to talk about it?”

  “Do you know about the article?”

  “Anyone who knows you knows it’s not true.” Frank climbed through the fence and came to stand next to her and Buck. He stroked the horse’s black nose.

  Annie slowly raised her eyes to meet his. The compassion and tenderness in them rendered her speechless.

  “I know what it’s like to be judged for something you didn’t do, Annie—or rather, didn’t mean to do.” Frank’s gaze drifted back to Buck’s head. He stroked the horse’s forelock and Buck closed his eyes, basking in the attention. Annie put her arm up over Buck’s withers and leaned her weight into him, allowing the rise and fall of his ribcage to gently rock her to and fro.

  “You remember I told you that I killed my brother,” Frank said.

  “Yes.”

  “Not intentionally. I loved my brother—more than anyone. We were playing down at the lake, near my family’s horse farm.”

  Annie smiled at him, surprised to hear about the horse farm.

  “Yes, I grew up raising horses.” He must have read her thoughts. “That’s why I understand your connection with Buck.”

  “You do understand. I love that.” She leaned harder into Buck’s side.

  “We’d hung a swing on a tree branch, over the lake. You know, a board with a couple of holes drilled into it. We shoved the ropes through each of the holes, tied a knot. I climbed the tree and secured the ropes at the top. We wanted to soar out over the water and then jump from the swing. It was like flying for a few seconds, just before a huge splash into the drink.” He laughed at the memory, showing every one of his perfectly straight, white teeth. As quickly as the smile had come, it
vanished.

  “I hadn’t tied the ropes tight enough. When it was my turn, as I flew over the water, the ropes came loose and the swing came down into the water with me. I got tangled and panicked, and then went under. Kenny dove in to help me, but I thrashed about so hard, I struck him in the side of the head. Knocked him out cold. I frantically pulled at the ropes, but when I finally broke free, it was too late. He’d taken on too much water. I struggled to get him to the shore, but he outweighed me by about thirty pounds.”

  Frank, hands on hips, turned away from her, his head dipping down in shame or sadness, she couldn’t tell. The leather of his jacket bunched at the collar, showing off his square shoulders. Not able to resist, Annie reached out, placed her hand at his collar and let it rest there, feeling the softness of the leather and the strength of his hardened muscles underneath. Her eyes stung at the beautiful gift—more beautiful than the shiny pistols—he shared with her. He’d opened himself up to her.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. His personal confession made her feel less alone in the world, less isolated. LeFleur had tried to do the same, but it meant so much more coming from Frank. He turned around to face her again, his mustache twitching with emotion.

  “Frank, if you could overcome such a horrible tragedy, then who am I to cry because of a little bad press?” She smiled at him. “I’m going to fight it. Fight the story. I’m going to find out who wrote it and set the record straight.”

  Frank tilted his head, squinting his eyes.

  “You might be careful about that. Sometimes it doesn’t pay to get in the slop with the pigs. They like rolling around in all that mud.”

  Annie let out a boisterous laugh.

  Frank reached over, grasped her around the waist, pulled her to him and kissed her. A kaleidoscope of light spun behind her eyes and electricity zinged through her body, leaving her limp, like a rag doll in his arms, surrendering to him at last.

  Frank pulled away from her.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, laughing. “I didn’t mean to be so forward—”

  “You just took my breath away, is all.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him again.