Leni wiped her eyes, nodded.
“You want to be a victim or a survivor, Lenora?”
Leni had such a headache she couldn’t think. “S-survivor?”
“We have to be ready for anything up here. I want you able to protect yourself.” His voice broke on that. She saw the emotion he was trying so hard to hide. He loved her. That was why he wanted her to be able to take care of herself. “What if I’m not here when something happens? When a bear breaks down the door or a pack of wolves surrounds you? I need to know you can protect your mom and save yourself.”
Leni sniffled hard, struggled for control. He was right. She needed to be strong. “I know.”
“Okay. Pick up the rifle,” Dad said. “Try again.”
Leni picked up the mud-splattered rifle. Aimed.
“Don’t hold the sight so close to your eye. The recoil is a mother on this. There. Hold it like that.” Dad gently repositioned the weapon. “Put your finger on the trigger. Lightly.”
She couldn’t do it. She was too scared of getting cracked in the eye again.
“Do it,” Dad said.
She took a deep breath and slid her forefinger along the trigger, feeling the cold steel curve.
She ducked her chin, drew back farther from the sight.
She forced herself to concentrate. The sounds faded away: the cawing of the crows and the wind clattering through the trees diminished until all she heard was the beating of her own heart.
She closed her left eye. Tried to calm down.
The world spiraled down to a single circle. Blurry at first, a double image.
Focus.
She saw the bale of hay, the white paper attached to it, the outline of a man’s head and shoulders. She was amazed by the clarity of the image. She adjusted the position of the rifle, took aim at the very center of the head.
Slowly, she squeezed the trigger.
The rifle cracked in recoil, hit her hard in the shoulder again, so hard she stumbled, but the sight didn’t hit her eye.
The bullet hit the bale of hay. Not the target, not even the white paper around the target, but the bale. She felt a surprising pride in that small achievement.
“I knew you could do it, Red. By the time we’re done, you’ll be sniper-good.”
SEVEN
Ms. Rhodes was at the chalkboard writing assignment pages when Leni got to school. “Ah,” the teacher said. “It looks like someone put the scope too close to her eye. Do you need an aspirin?”
“Rookie mistake,” Leni said, almost proud of her injury. It meant she was becoming an Alaskan. “I’m fine.”
Ms. Rhodes nodded. “Take your seat and open your history book.”
Leni and Matthew stared at each other as she entered the classroom. His smile was so big she saw his mouthful of crooked teeth.
She sidled into her desk, which clanked against his.
“Almost everyone gets popped in the eye the first time. I had a black eye for, like, a week. Does it hurt?”
“It did. But learning to shoot was so cool, I didn’t—”
“Moose!” Axle yelled, popping up from his seat and running to the window.