Beau had bounced back from his misadventure with all the resilience of an irrepressible five-year-old, but his plaster cast was heavy, and he wasn’t managing very well with his crutches just yet. Marlene offered to help out with Beau’s needs throughout the school day so that he needn’t miss any school even while he was still largely immobile, and Julie had gratefully accepted.

This new connection between the two mums seemed an answer to a number of prayers: already Marlene had had the chance to chat with Julie about Beau’s interest in God, and lent her some Bible story books with the hope she might read them with Beau and Kai. Jemimah felt humbled by this unexpected opportunity, and although Julie was still guarded about ‘religious stuff’, as just another mum Marlene was much freer to continue the conversation about Christianity as opportunity arose.

Jemimah stooped to pick up a scrap of paper from the threshold of her classroom and straightened just as Linda came out of the staff room.

“Are the arrangements working out satisfactorily with Beau, then?” she asked Jemimah, nodding in the direction of the departing car. Linda had originally resisted the idea of Beau returning immediately to school, thinking that the extra accommodations needed would be too difficult to organise with the school’s limited resources.

“Yes, very well, I think,” Jemimah said. “Beau’s keeping up with everything in class, and he and Bailey feel like they are getting a special treat staying in the classroom together over the break times to do jigsaws and games. Julie was just saying how well she thinks he’s going.”

“All’s well that ends well then, isn’t it? Have a good weekend, Jemimah.”

“Thank you -- you too, Linda.”

Jemimah smiled to herself as her headmistress walked down the stairs and toward the car park. After the tension between them for the last several weeks, the return to a relatively harmonious working relationship was such a relief that she didn’t even resent the way Linda had glossed over the whole ordeal without ever actually apologising for maligning her.

Even though the headmistress’s words of praise had been sparing, she had clearly been impressed by the feedback from the Anzac Day march and school barbecue and had pinned to the school noticeboard the very flattering feature article printed in the local paper.

She had stopped short of including the related article which outlined Jemimah’s role in Beau’s rescue (undoubtedly for the sake of not publicising her pupils’ misdemeanours) but had surprised her by warmly thanking ‘Miss Parker and the school community for their efforts on Anzac day’ in the most recent newsletter sent home to parents, and had even gone on to mention that the earlier ‘well justified’ warning to avoid the bush surrounding the school had now been lifted with the police having confirmed that the vagrant who had been camping in that area was no longer in the district.

Jemimah walked back into her classroom, thankful for feeling positive about the end of her school week rather than merely glad it was over. She would have most of her essential work completed by the time Jarrah joined her, and although she felt a little guilty about looking forward to the night off from the usual social outing, it was nice knowing that once she went home for the evening she would have the chance to unwind in peace and quiet.

She would have preferred staying at home on Saturday, too, but she had agreed to go with Angie to the Winslows’ to help with the organisation of the upcoming Minningford charity ball. In all honesty, it was not something Jemimah was looking forward to. She found Mr and Mrs Winslow rather intimidating, and although she had never met Sonja, everything she had heard about that high-powered career woman made her sound even more formidable than her parents. But Angie had asked and after the way she had carried Jemimah through the whole yowie nightmare of the past several weeks, being involved in Angie’s interests was the least she could do.

Still, Saturday afternoon was hours away and, with a quiet evening stretching enticingly ahead of her, Jemimah settled contentedly to her work.

A little while later Jarrah arrived as expected but with Jamie and Mitch following noisily - and unexpectedly - in her wake.

“Hey, we’re back! We’ve finished the picking and are free again!” Mitch called out as they crowded though the doorway, “So, are we running?”

Jemimah smiled at his enthusiasm but shook her head. The boys had been going straight home from school to cram in several hours of harvesting most evenings but neither she nor Jarrah had yet been back to the cross-country course. Jemimah had nearly finished her antibiotics and felt almost back to normal but had taken the doctor’s advice to leave running until the following week.

“I’ll aim for Monday, though. Are you in for that, Jarrah?”

Jarrah grinned and agreed, dumping her school bag onto the desk nearest Jemimah’s. “I’m going to a party tonight, anyway, so I can’t stay long. I just need you to tell me what to do next with this essay, then I can do it over the weekend.”

“Whose party is it?” Mitch asked, settling himself on a tiny chair, legs stuck out in front of him.

“Kylie’s.”

“Reckon we should crash it?” Mitch turned to Jamie, who thumped him in the shoulder in disgust.

“Nah -- got better things to do than hang around a girls’ party. Thought I’d take Jemimah shooting.” He glanced up at Jemimah, his eyes an endearing mix of bravado and vulnerability. “I was thinking, since there’s no social on tonight -- and it’s been weeks since you said you were going to learn how to use a rifle - this afternoon would be as good a time as any to make a start.”

Aware of Jarrah’s sudden interest and Mitch’s grin as he waited for the outcome of his mate’s gambit, Jemimah let out her breath slowly. She had hoped everybody had forgotten about the threatened shooting lessons since nothing more had been mentioned, but obviously not. Caught by surprise, she didn’t know what to think, or how to get out of it smoothly, but she didn’t want to knock back Jamie in front of Mitch and Jarrah. She probably ought to have a word to him about putting her on the spot like that in front of the others, but that would have to be in private, not now.

“I’ll give it some thought. In any case, I gather you two want a lift home when Jarrah and I are finished. Have you got your essay notes?” Jemimah turned her attention Jarrah, glad for the time it bought her for thinking.

Jamie and Mitch dragged out their own school books since they ‘might as well’ get some work done while they waited, and Jemimah helped Jarrah draw up an organisational framework of what she planned to address in her essay.

“So, I just put in the stuff from my notes after each of those headings?” Jarrah sat back, snapping the lid onto her pen when they’d finished drafting out her plan.

“Exactly -- except instead of using these headings, you start each new section with a topic sentence that briefly explains the heading and what you are about to talk about in that section. Give it a try, then we can go over it together Monday afternoon. But you’ve done some great work -- the hardest part’s already behind you. Now it’s just a matter of putting it into shape, and I know you’ll do well with that.”

A pleased smile flashed across Jarrah’s face in response to the praise. “Reckon I’ll surprise Old Ridge with this!”

“Ha! Have you got Mrs Aldridge for English?” Mitch looked up from his books, with a shake of his head. “Lucky you! Are we packing up now?” He stuffed his books back into his back in hope.

As Jarrah collected up her loose pages into the document folder Jemimah had given her, Jemimah turned and pulled down the blind closest to her desk. Before she’d even finished, Jamie was on his feet and had begun closing the blinds over the rest of the windows, calling out that he’d do the rest of them.

“Thank you, Jamie!” Jemimah shot him a grateful smile and gathered the things she needed before picking up her basket and heading to the door where Jarrah and Mitch were waiting.

“Hey, look at me, I’m helping too!” Mitch teased, flicking off the lights as she and Jamie joined them.

Jemimah laughed and shook her head at him, then turned back to the three teens after locking the door. Jarrah hoisted her backpack higher onto her shoulder and began to go down the steps. “See ya, then.”

“Are you coming to church Sunday morning?” Mitch called after her.

Jarrah pulled up short at his question. “Why? Are you going?”

“Too right I am. And you better, too -- do you good. I’ll pick you up same time as last week.”

“Okay, then,” she replied to Jemimah’s surprise. “See ya all there, then.”

Jemimah followed the boys down the steps and across the playground to her car. So, just like that Mitch and Jarrah were coming along to church again -- who would have thought it? She silently praised God as she pulled out her keys. She didn’t want to hope for too much again ... but it was very encouraging after feeling she had irretrievably failed at being any kind of witness to them over the last several weeks.

For once, Jamie had successfully outmanoeuvred Mitch to the front passenger seat, and as Jemimah drove the car out of the school gates, Mitch leaned through from the back seat.

“So, are you going shooting? What are you going after - bunnies or little goat kids?”

From the teasing tone, Jemimah gathered he’d heard all about her spotlighting experience.

“Don’t be stupid -- we’re just going to be practising. I’ve been saving up tin cans and milk cartons for weeks. That’s if Jemimah’s on for it.”

“Seems as good a time as any, I guess,” Jemimah replied with what she hoped was a convincing nonchalance, the promise of inanimate tins and cartons having relieved her mind somewhat. She’d tried to accustom herself to the idea while working through the essay with Jarrah, deciding it probably was best to get it over and done with without too much notice to work herself up into a state over it.

She’d been naïve hoping that the scheme would have been forgotten, but if it had to happen it would be much less of an ordeal with Jamie and Mitch than with Jack or the other Hart boys -- at least Jamie and Mitch generally treated her like an equal.

And quite apart from that, she wanted to stop running away from everything that daunted her, whether it was socialising with Angie and the Winslows, or getting involved with the Hart’s lifestyle. Now she was out here in the bush, she did want to overcome her fear of guns -- if for no other reason than to know if a gun was loaded and that she could safely disarm it if she needed to.

When they reached the Hart’s, Jemimah pulled up alongside Mitch’s car. Expecting that he wouldn’t be heading home until well after the shooting lesson, it took her completely by surprise when he pulled out his keys as soon as they got out of the car and called out goodbye as he headed toward it.

“You’re not going now, are you, Mitch?” Jemimah called after him. “Aren’t you coming along with Jamie and me?”

“Nah, it’s more than my life’s worth to muscle in Jamie’s neat little setup,” he shot back with a wink. “I know when I’m not welcome!”

Surely, he was just teasing, Jemimah told herself, too embarrassed to look at either of the boys as Mitch backed his car out onto the drive and tore off with a spray of gravel and a long blast of his car horn.

In the awkward silence that followed his departure, Jemimah tried to marshal her thoughts. It was just Jamie, after all, there was no way he’d be thinking of this as anything like a date.

She turned back to him, and said, as matter-of-factly as she could manage, “Maybe I should go home first and get changed?”

Jamie seemed to take in her long dress and court shoes. “Oh, no -- what you’re wearing is nice.”

Nice? His comment only added to her growing unease. Please Lord, give me wisdom. I feel like I’m being silly, but I don’t want to do the wrong thing yet again.

Her face must have reflected something of her reaction as Jamie quickly added, “Like, your dress is fine -- we’re not going into long grass or anything -- thought we’d just take the ute to the first empty cotton field and shoot from there. You can use Mum’s mud boots if you want. Anyway, come in and we’ll get something to eat first.”

She followed him around to the back door.

“Hey, Mum -- I’m home!” he called as he kicked off his shoes at the back door. “Got Jemimah with me -- gonna do a bit of shooting.”

Jemimah slipped off her shoes beside his and followed him inside.

“Hello, love!” Mrs Hart called out as she went into the kitchen behind Jamie, who’d been greeted by his mum with a kiss on his now blushing cheek. “You’ll have a cuppa first, won’t you? And some scones?”

Within minutes Jemimah was seated at one end of the huge dining table, between Mrs Hart and Jamie, and adding a delicate spoonful of cream to the strawberry jam on her second scone. She smiled as Mrs Hart pumped her youngest son about his day and then turned to ask Jemimah about her week. It was hard to imagine a less threatening situation, and Jemimah inwardly shook her head at her earlier qualms. Her biggest problem was her overactive imagination -- just looking for complications in the most innocent things.

Jamie had downed at least four scones in the time it took Jemimah to finish her two, and while she was drinking the last of her tea, he had dragged a stool over to one corner of the kitchen and was scrambling around in a cash box that was out of sight on the top of one of the overhead cabinets.

“You didn’t see that,” he told her with a grin, as he pushed the metal box back into place and jumped down from the stool. “No-one’s allowed to know where the keys to the gun cabinet are hidden. You ready?”

Jemimah smiled her thanks to Mrs Hart and followed Jamie to the utility room near the back door. He was already unlocking a tall metal locker, and Jemimah’s heart began to thud sickeningly as the door swung open to reveal several rifles. The nightmare horror of the spotlighting ordeal surged through her as fresh as if it had been yesterday and it was all she could do not to turn and run straight back into the kitchen and the comforting presence of Mrs Hart.

Blissfully unaware, Jamie was already making the introductions. “This is Dad’s three-o-three, this is Jack’s new pump-action twelve gauge, very nice but got quite a kick on it, this is David’s triple-two that I’ll use and I reckon we’ll start you with my old twenty-two. Here, hold these for a minute, will you?”

Jemimah’s mouth was dry as he thrust the two guns toward her and turned back to unlock an internal door in the cabinet and pulled out the ammunition box and a couple of metal bits which he slid into his pocket.

“How do I ...” Jemimah’s voice came out like a creak. She swallowed and tried again. “How do I know whether these are already loaded or not?” She was sure they wouldn’t be - couldn’t be - but she just wanted to hear it.

“A gun is always loaded,” he replied, his back to her as he locked up the cabinet and unaware of the sudden panic his words caused. “Well, of course, they’re not really -- the bolts aren’t even in the rifles, they’re always locked away separately - but Dad always says you act as if every gun is a loaded gun. So even if you’re sure it’s unloaded, you still never point it at anyone, or muck around with it in any way. But see,” he took the smallest of the guns from her and turned it over in front of her, “without the bolt in, it’s just a metal tube with a trigger. Nothing can happen. Okay?”

Jemimah nodded and watched as he retrieved one of the metal pieces from his pocket and slotted it into the rifle. “We can put the bolts in now, but we won’t load them until we’re ready to shoot.” With a deft move of his fingers over the top of the wooden part flicked the metal catch and pulled it back. “When it’s pulled back like this, it can’t fire, and you can see there’s no magazine with ammunition in there, there’s nothing in the breach and nothing in the barrel.” He held it up towards the door so that she could see the daylight through the long metal tube.

“Okay,” she said slowly. “Can I have a try?”

“Sure.”

She took the rifle but looked back up at him, unsure and nervous.

“So, it’s disengaged right now,” he said patiently. “You want to engage it by pushing the bolt forward and then down.”

“Okay ...” She followed his instructions then looked back up at him.

“So, if it was loaded, it would now be ready to shoot.”

Jemimah let out a slow breath, silently repeating to herself that it wasn’t loaded, it wasn’t loaded. “And how do I make it safe again -- just in case it was loaded?”

“You lift the bolt up,” he prompted, reaching across and pointing to it, “then back.”

“Okay,” she said again, gingerly trying it for herself. Her stomach tightened as it released, even though she knew there was no possibility of it firing, touching it still frightened her, and let out her breath as she saw the empty breech and barrel for herself.

“Now engage the bolt and then do it all over again - until you can do it without thinking about it.” Jamie directed, leaning comfortably back against the door frame. She felt cold all over with damp sweat, but his sensible approach eased her fears to some extent. This was what she had wanted after all, to be able to tell if a rifle was loaded or not, and to be able to make it safe if it was.

All up Jemimah ran through the routine probably a dozen times before Jamie straightened himself up from the door frame. “Right, you ready to go out?”

Jemimah already felt exhausted from the stress. “Maybe that would be enough for today?”

“Nah,” Jamie laughed, as though it was a great joke, picking up the larger rifle and taking it with him. “You’ve got to actually fire it before we call it a day.”

She cringed inwardly remembering too well the awful noise of gunshots but walked through the door he held open for her.

If she hadn’t been so uptight about the rifle in her hands, she could have laughed that an hour earlier she’d thought her only worry was that Jamie was looking for an excuse for time alone with her.

That put to rest at least one of the dread fears that tormented her during the short drive from the house to the nearest cotton field: the horror that somehow she’d shoot something -- or someone -- by accident. Ahead of them was nothing but empty rows of cotton stubble running in parallel lines until they converged into a single point in the far distance.

Nothing, not an adventurous little Hart child nor even one of the farm cats could possibly stray into range without being noticed. So why did she still feel so frightened?

Jemimah let out a slow breath and wrapped her cardigan more closely around her as Jamie walked back to her. The air was cool, but still. “Perfect, not even a breeze,” were Jamie’s exact words as he passed her to retrieve the gear from the ute.

He took out the two rifles and handed the smaller one to Jemimah. Her mouth was dry as he pulled out the ammunition and demonstrated loading and unloading the rifle. Just like he had in the house, he got Jemimah to load and unload several times, but his easy-going banter which had helped put her at ease earlier was now conspicuously absent. Suddenly the whole undertaking was cloaked in an unnerving degree of seriousness that made Jemimah even more nervous than when she was spotlighting with all the Hart boys.

Jemimah grit her teeth as Jamie raised the gun to his shoulder, explained how he was lining up the sights on the barrel with the target and how he was going to gently squeeze the trigger. Despite bracing herself, she still jumped as the shot rang out and was almost instantaneously echoed by a sharp ding as the bullet nicked the edge of the drum.

Jamie reloaded the gun, repeated the same steps with the same deliberate commentary, but this time when he fired one of the plastic milk cartons rocked and a little water splashed out from near the top of the container.

He disengaged the bolt and turned to Jemimah.

"See? Easy. Now it's your turn."

Mouth dry, she took the ammunition he held out to her and went through the practised steps mechanically, her heart thudding ever harder in her chest. How was she ever going to be able to squeeze the trigger -- let alone line up the target - while her whole frame shuddered with each jolting heartbeat?

She lifted up the rifle, then turned her head to Jamie for guidance.

"Brace it against your shoulder," he said quietly right beside her. "No, move your hand a little further along here." Jamie touched her hand only briefly but remained close by her side. "Take your time lining it up."

Jemimah felt sick from the suspense. She dreaded the loud noise, dreaded the potential for getting something wrong, but there was nothing left to do but pull the trigger. If I can pull the trigger ... Her forehead ached from the effort of concentration.

"Um, you know the charity ball at the Winslows?" Jamie cut unexpectedly into her thoughts.

"Uh-huh," Jemimah managed, disconcerted but still trying to hold her aim steady.

"Are you planning on going?"

What was he doing bringing this up? Trying to help me relax? It wasn't working, thought Jemimah, it was just drawing out the suspense more painfully. As soon as she fired she could relax again, if only he would stop distracting her.

"No. The tickets were all sold out ages ago," she answered shortly.

"Ahh, yeah."

In the silence following his reply, Jemimah focused again on the target, mentally steeling herself against the inevitable explosion of sound, the kick of the rifle, the ...

"Well, I was wondering if you'd like to go with me?"

"What?" The word came out of Jemimah’s mouth with a squeak. Her brain felt like it was tearing apart at the seams between the intense focus on the loaded gun in her hands and now Jamie’s completely incongruous question.

"We all got tickets, my family did, but Ashley's not going to go now because Gabi isn't, and I'd really like to take you, that is, if you'd like to go with me?" His words tumbled out in a rush.

Jemimah felt the air in her lungs leaking out of her, as she tried to disconnect her mind from the target in front of her and her finger from the metal trigger it was curled around.

“Stop. Please just stop," she pleaded, as she lowered the rifle, terrified that she would get this next bit wrong.

"I'm sorry, um, it's j-just ..." Jamie began to stutter but Jemimah shook her head.

"Shhh. I have to unload!" She began reciting the steps aloud one by one until the bolt was disengaged, the ammunition removed and the magazine safely in her hand. "Is that it? Is it safe?"

"Yes, it's good." He looked at her in bewilderment, mouth open and face blazing red.

She dropped the ammunition into his hand and gulped in mouthfuls of air as the dizziness hit. She’d forgotten even to breath until her gun was completely disarmed. Only the spiky branches of the stripped cotton bushes kept her from sitting down in the dirt right where she stood. She wanted to drop the rifle straight down into the dirt, too, just to get it out of her hands, but remembered Jamie saying something about not getting any dirt near the gun to foul up the workings. She quickly turned and placed it into the tray of the ute.

"Okay. I can think now," she said, more to herself than to Jamie, pressing her empty hands against her cheeks as she turned around to face him. Seeing his aghast expression she hurriedly explained, "I didn't want to shoot you".

Rather than looking reassured by her explanation, he looked only more horrified. "I'm sorry ..."

"No, I meant I didn't want to shoot you by accident."

Despite it being the last thing she wanted to do, Jemimah began to laugh at what she had said, and at the whole awkward situation. Now that the intense pressure of holding the loaded rifle was gone, she began to understand Jamie’s approach. Although he’d been perfectly relaxed in his house, once they'd headed out to the field, he'd gone as quiet as she had. While Jemimah was overwhelmed by the thought of firing a gun for the first time in her life, Jamie had apparently been preoccupied with picking his perfect moment to ask her out. And that had obviously been when her attention had been focused on the target, and he was emboldened by standing close beside her, and being able to talk without having to meet her eyes.

How awful for him, Jemimah thought, to have me react like that when it was possibly the first time he’d asked a girl out.

“I’m sorry, I was just so stressed out from being about to fire the rifle that when you started talking to me I just couldn’t think. And then I couldn’t remember what to do with the gun and then I knew that I couldn’t think about anything unless that gun was unloaded and out of my hands.” She let out another long breath and pulled herself up onto the open tailgate of the ute. “I was not about to shoot you for asking me out.”

Jamie shrugged. “It was a dumb thing to ask.”

“No, it was really sweet.”

Jamie shrugged again, his face as pale as it had been red as he stared at the ground between them. “Forget it, okay?”

“Can we talk about it? Now that I know I’m not going to kill you by accident?”

He made no reply, but after a few moments came and sat on the far end of the tailgate. As the silence dragged she prayed for wisdom, desperately wanting to not make things any more painful for Jamie than they already were.

“I’m really flattered, Jamie, really I am. You must know what a good friend you are to me; how important your friendship is to me. I’m really touched that you asked me out. But,” there was no way around what she had to say next, and drawing it out would only make it worse, “but it’s not that kind of friendship.”

“If I were older,” he blurted in frustration, “like, I know it seems like a lot of difference in age, but if I were 25 and you were 29 it wouldn’t be a big deal, or ... if you think I need to wait a few years ...”

Jemimah shook her head. Of course his age -- and her position in the school - made it entirely inappropriate, but it would not be kind to give him any kind of false hope that that was the only reason. He needed the freedom to grow friendships with girls his own age, rather than holding out for some imaginary future. “It still wouldn’t change anything. I think the world of you Jamie, I’m incredibly glad you’re my friend, but that’s all I want.”

He nodded, staring at the dirt beneath his feet.

“You want to go home then? Forget the shooting?”

Here was the chance she had so desperately wanted when she’d suggested they quit before coming out of the house, but now it was offered she couldn’t take it.

“I thought you said I couldn’t quit until I’d at least fired the gun? Unless you really think I can't do it?”

“Of course you can,” he said gruffly. ‘You’ve done good with everything else you’ve tried. Like the whip cracking, driving the ute.”

Jemimah laughed. “Now that is stretching the truth too far.”

His mouth curved into the hint of a smile. “Well ... maybe not driving the ute. But the whip cracking, you’re not too bad at that. At least you’re not frightened of giving things a go.”

If only you knew, Jemimah thought ruefully to herself as she hopped down from the tailgate. It could only be infatuation that kept him blind to the weakness and fear everybody else saw, but part of her would be sorry to lose that flattering, if entirely unrealistic, regard. It inspired her to want to not disappoint him too badly.

“Still mates?” she asked.

Jamie got slowly to his feet. “Yeah. Forget I ever said anything, alright?”

“Why? I respect you for it. It takes a lot of maturity -- and courage -- to ask someone out. Especially if they're holding a loaded weapon.”

He laughed reluctantly.

“Are you ready to risk it again?” Jemimah asked, amazing herself with the feigned ease with which she grabbed ‘her’ rifle from the tray of the ute.

“Yeah, I reckon.”

He picked up the other rifle and joined her at the spot they had stood earlier. Once he’d talked her through the whole procedure of loading and unloading again another couple of times, any obvious sign of awkwardness had just about left him. Even more surprisingly, Jemimah found she wasn’t nearly as scared when she raised the rifle and lined up the target as he’d taught her. After the huge build-up of tension on her first attempt that was broken by Jamie’s ill-timed question and her relief that the conversation she had long dreaded had finally happened, she felt physically worn out but, inexplicably, quite calm.

“When you’re ready,” Jamie said quietly and, keeping her eyes open through a mighty force of will, Jemimah slowly squeezed the trigger. She didn’t hit the target, nor even the metal drum, but neither did the world end, and both she and Jamie were still standing alive and in one piece.

She had jumped when the gun had fired, but she had not panicked. Her head was feeling a little light from her racing heart, but when Jamie prompted her to have another go, in the same low-key way he’d taught her every other part of the routine by repetition, she merely nodded, reloaded and tried again.

It was neither surprising nor disappointing to her that the targets remained entirely unscathed, but she was proud that this time she had hardly flinched.

On her third attempt, however, both she and Jamie were completely surprised to see the right-most bottle disappear with a splash behind the drum.

“Ah, nice!” Jamie whooped and clapped her hard on the shoulder but she managed to keep her grip on the rifle. Although she returned his enthusiastic smile, honesty made her confess that it was only a fluke.

“Try it again, then.”

“But I was aiming for the other bottle -- not the one I got. I can’t make that happen a second time.”

“Then you need to aim a little left of last time.”

Jemimah took his advice and took her time lining up the bottle. Before she had only cared about conquering her fear, now she felt a tiny tickle of curiosity about whether she could actually hit the target on purpose.

Her next shot, according to Jamie’s biased assessment, ‘just missed it by a whisker’ but the following one hit it square in the middle.

“See! I knew you could do it!” Jamie crowed, and Jemimah was more grateful for his being comfortable with her again than for her unexpected success with the target. She unloaded the gun, expecting that the session was over, but after one glance at the darkening sky Jamie dashed back to the ute, calling out that they would sneak in just a couple more shots before calling it a day.

He jogged over to the metal drum, placed three empty tin cans on top and ran back to her.

Jemimah squinted at the comparatively tiny targets, shook her head to say ‘no chance’ and insisted he go first.

Jamie fired, shrugging when the outer most tin shuddered slightly but did not fall.

There was nothing at stake for Jemimah, and she knew if Jamie had missed that she had no chance but she still took her time aiming, and was surprised by the unfamiliar frisson of satisfaction that came after the can was in her sights one moment and literally gone the next.

She heard Jamie’s low whistle beside her and heard herself asking, “Can I try again?”

Her heart was racing again, not with fear now, but with a desire to really succeed at this. Who would have thought she could actually do this -- she who had never been any good at any kind of sport or game?

She breathed out slowly, subconsciously aware of the streaky, darkening sky, the call of birds passing overhead and the gentle tug of the breeze on her hair but free from thoughts of any of them or of anything else except the soup label on the tin can that stared back at her from the middle of the drum.

This time when the tin leaped into the air a split-second after she chose to squeeze the trigger she felt no surprise, just a deep joy that she was able to do it.

She unloaded the rifle and turned to Jamie who was looking at her in amazement.

“No, don’t stop now. You’re incredible. I want to see if you can get the last one.”

Jemimah shook her head. “No. I can’t believe I did that -- but I don’t want to risk spoiling it by missing now. You have a turn.”

He laughed, but unloaded his own gun, saying he wasn’t going to risk missing again, either.

“Can I give you a hand with the drum and cans?” she asked.

“Nah, I’m going to come out in the morning and have a bit more practice. Can’t have a girl showing me up like that,” he said good-naturedly as they returned to the ute. “But, Jemimah, you are really good. I haven’t seen anybody shoot like that without a massive amount of practice.”

“Maybe you’re just a really good teacher, Jamie.”

He laughed and started up the ute. “Maybe. Next time we’ll try it a bit further distance and see what you can do. You’ll give it another go?”

Jemimah nodded. It was a strange feeling to think she had actually done something impressive, at least in Jamie’s eyes anyway. And whether it was from a desire to keep the sense of achievement special by not testing it by anyone else’s judgement, or merely the doubt that she’d ever be able to repeat it, she felt she very much wanted to keep it to herself.

“Yes, thank you, Jamie, I’d love to,” she said, and actually meant it. “But can I ask you a favour? Can you not tell anyone that I ... that I did okay? At least, not for now?”

“Yeah, sure. It can be our secret.”

They drove along the gravel the short distance to the house in comfortable silence. Jamie hadn’t asked, but Jemimah hoped he also knew his asking her out would be just between the two of them too.

She left Jamie with a message to say goodnight to Mrs Hart for her, and drove home to her own little cottage, reassuringly waiting for her “in the gloaming” as the Turnbulls described the light at that time of evening. She climbed slowly up the stairs onto the verandah but, instead of going inside, she sat down on the bench beneath the window and watched in silence until the last of the colour faded from the sky.

Her conversation with Jamie had had to happen sometime, and she was grateful to God that they both seemed to have gotten through it with their friendship intact. But she couldn’t help wishing that it had been a different young man -- a very specific and not-quite-so-young young man -- who had been the one to ask her to the Minningford Ball.

Michael hadn’t mentioned anything to her about the charity ball, though the last few times they’d been together she’d entangled him in so many of her own disasters that the subject could hardly have come up in those circumstances. She had no idea if he would even consider coming all the way to Jacaranda Plains to attend the ball, let alone dream of asking her to be his partner. But hidden in the growing darkness it was too easy to find herself imagining how wonderful it would be to be with Michael again -- not being extricated from her latest misadventure -- but encircled in his arms and gliding across the ballroom beneath a sparkling chandelier.

The first stars had begun to twinkle in the heavenly chandelier above and, shaking her head at fairy tale dreams far more appropriate for princesses with fairy godmothers than silly romantic girls like herself, Jemimah left the starry night to its own magic and went inside alone.