“Get my gun,” Dad says, starting to back up again and coaxing Olivia with his quiet voice. “Get on back, girl. Get on back now.”
Daniel’s legs won’t move. He sees the steps leading to the back porch. He’ll go up them, two at time, unlock the cabinet, grab the gun. Evie’s already inside, hiding her face in Mama’s apron, probably crying because Olivia is going to die. The gun is inside, too. But Daniel’s legs won’t move.
“My gun, Dan,” Dad says, wiping his forehead with his shirtsleeve and leaving a red smudge. “I need a gun.”
Daniel takes a step toward the porch. Only one. Another low rumble drifts up from Olivia. Dad yells again for him to get moving. He takes the stairs two at a time. Inside the back door, Mama and Aunt Ruth already have the gun cabinet open. They stand back as Daniel reaches in and grabs the shotgun. Dad said it once belonged to Grandpa Robert, but he’s dead so now it’s Dad’s gun. It’s heavier than his rifle, the weight of it pulling him forward. With one hand on the stock and the other on the double barrel, he swings around, careful to not hit Mama or Aunt Ruth, and runs back outside.
“Careful, Dan,” Mama calls out.
Olivia and Dad stand in the driveway now, clear of the small space that had trapped Olivia. Dad has one hand on a leather lead that dangles from Olivia’s neck strap. Evie left it on. Damn it all, she’s always leaving on that lead. Olivia stomps her front feet, staggering from side to side as if she’s frightened now that she is in the open. She starts to swing around, throwing her head to the left. Dad looks behind, measuring the distance between him and the garage because Olivia might crush him against it.
“There’s a girl,” he says, dropping the leather lead and coming at her from the front end where she can’t hurt him. “There’s a good girl.”
Olivia staggers a few steps to the side and back toward Dad. Waiting until she staggers away again, he grabs at the strap and walks her in a half circle, coaxing her quietly until she is facing the opposite direction. Still talking to her, telling her she’s a good girl, he backs toward the fence, and without taking his eyes off of hers, he wraps her lead around the nearest wooden post and ties it off. Olivia’s blood is smeared across his face and his neck. Giving the lead a tug to test that it is good and tight, Dad sidesteps away from her.
“Go ahead on, son.” He nods, and as he steps away, he pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and wipes the blood from his hands.
Waiting until Dad is clear, Daniel lifts the heavy gun and walks toward Olivia. With the wooden stock pressed to his cheek, he wraps his finger around the stiff trigger and stares down the wide barrel until Olivia is lined up in the sight. She is a Brown Swiss with long thin legs and dark lashes that trim her brown eyes. Akin to a deer, Dad had said. She’ll be a jumper, quick and light on her feet. She’ll be a good girl, a good cow. But a quick one. You’ll have to take good care. She throws her head again, stumbling left and right, the lead pulling tight against her weight. Daniel’s finger is numb on the trigger.
“Go on with it, son,” Dad says. He stands with his back to Daniel and Olivia. “No need letting her suffer.”
Daniel stares down the barrel at Olivia. She flicks one round ear and swats her long black tail.
Dad turns back to face Daniel. He exhales loud enough for Daniel to hear and reaches out as if wanting Daniel to hand off the gun. Instead, Daniel lines it up again and begins to pull the heavy trigger.
“Hold on there, Dan,” Dad says. “Wait. Dan, no.”
Daniel pulls. He thinks he pulls. And jumps when a shot fires.
It catches Olivia square between the ears, and the sound of her exploding skull seems to surprise her. She tosses her head, shaking away the echo, but the lead holds firm. Another shot. She drops her snout, nuzzles the ground, stumbles, her front feet crossing one over the other. Her back feet are rooted. The lead holds firm. A third shot. She falls. Daniel lowers the shotgun and turns. There, standing in front of his truck, ready to take another shot, Jonathon holds his position, but Olivia is already down. He had perfect aim with all three. He lowers his gun and leans against the hood of his truck. He’s parked in his usual spot.
“Got herself caught up back there,” Dad says. “Tangled up in her lead.” He takes another deep breath and shakes his head. “Couldn’t find her way out. Threw her head through the garage window.”
Jonathon nods and wipes his brow with the palm of his hand like Dad always does. In the passenger side of his truck, Elaine sits, her face hidden in her hands.
Daniel looks down at his gun and back at Dad.
“Wouldn’t want a shotgun for a job like this, son,” Dad says.
Jonathon lays his rifle in the back of his truck. “Shotgun’ll do the trick if something’s coming at you,” he says. “Good for protection and hunting. But if you have time to take aim, you want a rifle.”
“Should have told you to get your rifle,” Dad says. “Man’ll always do right with his own gun.”
Jonathon nods and Daniel wants to lunge at him and beat him in the face for always being Dad’s extra set of hands. Instead, he nods like he understands about shotguns and rifles.
“Hustle on in and get me some clean clothes,” Dad says, noticing the blood smeared across his shirt and arms.
Unable to say anything, Daniel nods again, lays down Grandpa’s shotgun and steps around it. At the top of the porch stairs, he turns. Dad has picked up the gun and he and Jonathon are looking at it, studying it. They stare at each other for a good long moment, like they are saying something without having to speak, and then propping the gun over one shoulder, Dad walks into the garage.
“Damn shame,” Jonathon says, walking toward Olivia.
Daniel says nothing while he waits for Dad to come back out of the garage. When he does, he is empty-handed.
“Dad,” Daniel says before opening the screened door. “Evie’s home, right? Evie’s already here.”
Finding Mrs. Robison’s house was easy. From school, Evie had only to follow the church steeple, and even though it wasn’t a long walk, Evie’s toes are cold and the tops of her ears burn. She knocks again, this time with the palm of her hand because knocking with her knuckles makes them sting. Mama will be angry if she knows Evie left the house without gloves and a hat. She forgot them because she was so worried about the hem of Aunt Eve’s dress sticking out from under her winter coat where Mama might see it.
Standing at the front door, Evie pulls her coat closed so Mrs. Robison won’t see the torn part of the dress before Evie can explain. It’s Daddy’s fault it tore some more. He hit Uncle Ray, and Evie tripped over the dress and the collar ripped. Maybe that’s why Uncle Ray’s red truck is parked down at the church. Maybe he is talking to Father Flannery about how Daddy hit him and how Aunt Ruth has his baby inside of her. That’s Uncle Ray’s truck for sure. It’s parked in the same spot he and Aunt Ruth parked in every Sunday before Aunt Ruth came to live with Evie. As soon as Mrs. Robison answers the door, Evie will show her that Uncle Ray is at church because Daddy and he had a fight and made Evie tear her dress. Surely Mrs. Robison will fix it. She’ll have the needles and thread and she’ll sew it up tight, and maybe she’ll fix the trim, too. Mrs. Robison might even be able to make the dress a little smaller so it will fit Evie better next time.
Knocking on Mrs. Robison’s door again and hearing nothing, Evie walks to the picture window, cups her hands around her eyes, and tries to see inside, but the curtains are closed and the house is dark. She taps on the glass and presses her ear to it. Still nothing. Back at the door, she knocks again. The sun is starting to fall lower in the sky. The air is colder now than when Evie first left school, and soon, Mama will be thinking about supper. Mrs. Robison doesn’t live far from school but Evie does. Her house is a long way away. Her house is so far from school that Mr. Slear drives them in the bus every day.