Page 37 of Stella's Christmas Rescue
“Wait, don’t I need to cock it or something?” she frowns.
I shake my head. “This isn’t that kind of shotgun. The cartridge is already in the chamber. If you pump it, like you see in movies, then that just dumps the cartridge, which actually just wastes ammo. No point in that.”
“Oh.” Stella aims again, then mumbles, “Breathe, let it out, and squeeze, don’t pull…” She shoots and hits the fence. “Damn.”
“Not bad. Try again.” We get her sporadically hitting the cans after a while. I tell her, “Let me give it a shot. Your aim and your form are good, so I can’t figure out why you’re not hitting anything consistently.”
But then a mint green antique Ford truck pulls up next to Hanson’s rusty old Suburban. Mrs. Black rolls the window down and asks, “What’re y’all doing?”
“Stella needs to learn how to shoot.”
Mrs. Black’s faintly crinkled face smiles at her and says, “Then I’m just in time.” She parks and gets out.
“I’m so sorry for all the noise, Mrs. Black,” Stella says. “I promise we won’t be at it for long.”
“You will be, shooting with Hanson’s cheap shotguns. Come ‘ere.” We join her at the truck and Mrs. Black unlatches the bed.I keep my cool on the outside, but just barely. In the back of little old Mrs. Black’s pickup cargo bed is a well—stocked arsenal, and I am envious.
“What in the hell?” I mumble.
“Stella, Mr. Hanson’s shotguns are antiques that haven’t been serviced in decades, and they’ve always shot a little funny,” Mrs. Black says, “Since I know you’re here to take care of Mr. Hanson’s property, and he’s been a wonderful neighbor over the years, that makes you family, as far as I’m concerned. Now, you see here, there’s handguns, some decent shotguns, my favorite little sawed—off but don’t tell anyone, because they’re not all that legal, depending on who is in office. There’s my rifle, Beulah, you can practice with her, but you don’t get to keep her. But aside from her, take your pick.”
Stella half—smiles. “Are you serious?”
Mrs. Black nods. “And even if all that weren’t the case, us single gals gotta look out for each other. Hanson was the only person I know who knew how to use his shotguns with all their quirks. I know he always aimed down and to the left of his targets, but even I couldn’t get my aim with them.”
I ask, “What do you mean, evenyoucouldn’t do it?”
She laughs, then asks, “You remember the pictures you saw on the wall in my house? The ones that look to be from the Old West?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“They aren’t old photos?—"
“I figured they’re from one of those special photo booths.”
She shakes her head and says, “Nope. They are me, from when I was a young woman at my old job in the Big Pickle Circus. I was part of their Wild West show, and my thing,” she aims a pistol at the cans and hits each one, “was sharpshooting and trick riding, basically, whatever else they needed to sell they show.”
We clap, and she does a little bow. I ask, “How did you get involved in all that?”
“How does anyone get involved in anything?” she shrugs.
Stella’s face darkens, and she says, “Sometimes you start something, and you don’t know where it’ll end up.”
Mrs. Black says, “Exactly. In the sixties, when I came to the U.S., I went straight to California. Spent time all over the state and found the Big Pickle Circus by dating one of the cowboys from the Wild West show.”
“When you came over from where?” Stella asks.
“You can’t go tellin’ no one,” Mrs. Black warns.
“We never would,” I swear.
She half—smirks and says, “Ireland.”
I frown at Stella, who is equally confused. “But you sound like a Southern girl. AnAmericanSouthern girl. Why not just be from Ireland?”
“When I joined the show,” her Irish accent heavy and endearing as she speaks, “we all had to do the Western film accent, which is not that different from a Southern accent. So, when I travelled around for the show, I used my Western film accent. Between shows, I had to choose either sounding American or sounding Irish, and well, when people heard my Irish accent, they acted like I was a freaking leprechaun and said they couldn’t understand me.” Her drawl is back when she says, “Same thing happened my first day in Floyd, so I’ve been a Southern belle ever since. Just easier that way.”
Stella giggles, “Mrs. Black, might I try that pistol?”
