Ripper by Amy Carol Reeves Page B

Mariah and I drank elderberry cordials outside as we played archery in the small, walled courtyard behind Violet’s house. Grandmother and Violet remained indoors, protesting that it was too cold for us to be outdoors, but after being inside the stuffy hospital all morning, the cool air felt wonderful.
    Unfortunately, I had never played archery in my life.
    â€œYour aim is terrible, Abbie,” Mariah said as she shot a perfect bull’s-eye.
    I shot my arrow again; this time it didn’t hit anywhere near the target. It merely clattered against the high stone wall behind the targets.
    â€œDidn’t you ever play sports?” she asked.
    In Dublin, I had been quite active in fighting sports and knife-throwing competitions, where we took aim at wooden targets. By sixteen, after much practice, I had become a bit of a champion in the neighborhood, winning several of our organized street competitions. I had thought that archery could not be much different from knife throwing; I had been very wrong.
    â€œI have played sports in the past,” I responded, missing the target again. “Just not archery.”
    Mariah shot an almost-bull’s-eye, rubbed her arm, and took a long sip of cordial. Our breath puffed out in the cold air.
    â€œSo,” she began in a low voice, “as I told you the other evening, I’m going to run away from here, elope. I write, and I’m going to be a writer somewhere, anywhere but here. How are you going to escape?”
    I smiled as I adjusted my bracer, loaded my bow, and prepared to take aim again. That is why I felt so drawn to Mariah. Although this was only my second time speaking with her, she represented a break from the ridiculous rules and rituals of Kensington. We were sudden allies in our desperate attempts to live a bigger life.
    â€œEducation,” I said. “I’m thinking about going to medical school.”
    I had not yet told anyone about my possible plan, and it felt wonderful to finally say it out loud. Mariah smiled widely as a light wind pulled at her curls and small flecks of rain began to fall on us. She looked gorgeous in the cloudy late afternoon.
    â€œI’m finding you more and more interesting, Abbie Sharp.”
    â€œSo, are you going to tell me about this lover?” I asked, pulling my arm back and squinting—I felt determined to at least hit the target this time. I released the arrow.
    â€œPerhaps another time … ” Mariah’s voice trailed off in horror as the arrow sailed over the wall.
    I heard a screech, followed by two seconds of silence. Then came a bloodcurdling scream.
    â€œOh God, I’ve killed someone,” I murmured.
    Mariah grabbed her skirts up and ran from the courtyard toward the front of the house. I ran after her. She saw my victim before I did, and an expression of horror and amusement spread across her face.
    â€œBloody hell, Abbie,” she said.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œYou’ve shot your grandmother’s dog.”

    Mary was in a foul mood on Wednesday morning as we began working in the second floor ward. I had hoped for a little more gratitude from her, particularly since, to my relief, Dr. Bartlett had agreed to allow her to continue working at the hospital.
    I knew that even with this job, Mary still had money troubles, but I hoped she could believe that life wasn’t exactly rosy for me that morning either. Jupe had, fortunately, survived the hit. Grandmother had just stepped outside with him when the arrow sailed down, grazing his back. However, the wound bled profusely and Grandmother summoned Simon, who had recently arrived home from the hospital. After he assured Grandmother that Jupe would live and bandaged the pug until it looked like a pet mummy, Grandmother shrieked at and lectured me for no less than two hours—after which she settled into an angry silence. I had received the cold shoulder at breakfast and had wanted nothing more than to get to