Love, Come to Me(26)

Lucy and Sally gossiped and laughed as they made their way across the small clearing to the meadow where the men had gone. They weren’t hesitant about invading the privacy of the shooting match because the men were always pleased to be watched and admired by a female audience. Lucy felt immense pride and pleasure in Daniel’s performance at the matches. He was the best marksman in Concord—maybe the best in Massachusetts. During the war, sharpshooters had been valued highly, since the average marksman had used up more than two hundred pounds of powder and almost nine hundred pounds of lead to shoot just one Confederate.

Daniel had received many medals and a great deal of recognition in the war, a fact that was never forgotten by the people of Concord. They were all proud of him for having fought so well for them and the Union. Many people had joked to Lucy that Daniel no longer belonged just to her but to all of them. Of course she never failed to agree, but what no one seemed to understand was that she wasn’t always happy about it. It would have been nice, she reflected wistfully, if Daniel didn’t care quite so much about what other people thought—if he belonged not to all of them but to her alone.

At the edge of the meadow David Fraser was standing about 150 yards away from a fallen log that had been braced up on two stumps. Carefully he lifted a Spencer rifle and took his time aiming at one of the seven tin cans lined up on top of the log. He fired, and the empty cartridge case fell to the ground. Several of the men chuckled and ribbed David good-naturedly, for the seven cans continued to sit placidly in their perfect row.

“I surrender. Your turn,” David said to Daniel, who chuckled and took the rifle.

Pausing to fill the empty chamber with another rimfire cartridge, Daniel glanced in Lucy’s direction and saw the two young women sitting on a large boulder. Lucy gave him an impish little wave and arranged her skirts as she settled further up on the flat-topped rock.

“You’re the luckiest woman in the world,” Sally whispered. “Daniel adores you. And he’s so gentlemanly and handsome—”

“Yes, he is,” Lucy said, her eyes resting on Daniel’s dark hair and wiry form. He had the lean, slim build of an aristocrat, and his hands were beautiful and sensitive as he lifted the rifle and held it. Gently he pulled the trigger. One shot, and the first tin can jumped off of the log. Two, three, four—the next cans were picked off in rapid succession. Five. Six, seven. Daniel had hit them all flawlessly. They all cheered and whistled while Daniel smiled modestly and looked over at Lucy. She clapped her hands in delight, her face glowing.

“Now I want a chance!” Hiram Damon, a towheaded boy of seventeen, declared, causing the group to chuckle indulgently. Hiram had been too young to fight in the war, a fact he was forever lamenting.

“All right, Hiram, you’ve got a chance now,” Daniel said, overseeing the process of loading the rifle as the boy fumbled inexpertly with the new cartridges.

“Bet a quarter he can’t hit more than one,” someone said.

“I’ll bet a quarter he can,” Daniel replied, giving Hiram a firm pat on the back. “Aim a hair to the left, Hiram, and take your time.”

“Daniel’s going to make a good father,” Sally whispered. “He’s so good with children.”

Laboriously Hiram aimed and fired, managing to hit two of the cans. Sally and Lucy applauded loudly, even daring to give unladylike whistles.

“Anyone care to take me on?” Daniel asked. “I’ll take a disadvantage to even things up. I’ll stand back farther, or—”

“Put a blindfold on him,” Sally suggested, and they all cheered.

“I’m feeling lucky today,” David Fraser said amid the noise and laughter. “I’ll take you on, Daniel, if you let me stay here and you go back to two hundred yards.”

“I’ll give a quarter to anyone who can beat him!” Sally declared loudly.

“And what’ll you pledge, Lucy?” Daniel asked, his mustache lifting up at the corners as he smiled at her.

“A kiss to the winner,” she said, and the whole group laughed, because they all knew that Daniel always won.

“Now that is an interesting offer.” A new voice entered the conversation. Everyone looked to the right, where Heath Rayne half-leaned, half-sat on a slanting boulder. His drawl was soft but pronounced as he added, “This competition open to anyone?”

Lucy felt her cheeks go cold. She looked down at her hands and clenched her fingers together while Sally murmured, “That Southerner’s asking for it.”

“You should spare yourself the trouble, Mr. Rayne,” Daniel said stiffly, all the warmth and enjoyment fading from his expression. “I was a sharpshooter—as more than a few Johnny Rebs can testify.”

Heath’s glinting eyes were startling against the background of the golden meadow as he smiled, seemingly unperturbed by the taunt. “Fine. I’ll watch. Don’t let me disturb you.”

But he had disturbed the afternoon, and they all knew it. The shooting match, which had been filled with a spirit of lighthearted fun, had taken on the atmosphere of a battlefield.

“No. Join us. Please,” Daniel invited, his face twisted with an expression of bitterness that was entirely unfamiliar to Lucy.

“Don’t do it,” Lucy whispered, even as David handed over the gun to Daniel and backed away respectfully. Now the group of men, which had been so boisterous and friendly, was quiet, watchful, eager, and tense. Lucy wasn’t aware that she had taken Sally’s arm, or that her fingers were biting down into it, until Sally jerked it away with a squeak and looked at her reproachfully. Lucy, her face white, was too absorbed in the scene before them to apologize. She couldn’t believe Heath had dared Daniel so boldly, and that Daniel had decided to take him up on it.