Juliette adjusted her expectations and tamped down her competitive nature. They would have an enjoyable time. That would be enough, especially for a first outing as a team.

She looked down the range where a paper target had been affixed to a bulging burlap sack. Full of straw, sawdust, or sand? Next to the shooting tables, a matching row of targets had been set up facing the downrange targets. “We all shoot this direction and then go down there and shoot back this way?”

“Yes. It saves on having to retrieve arrows,” Miss Anna—at least Juliette thought it was Anna—said. She raised her bow from its case, testing the tightness of the bowstring. “What color are your fletchings? You need to register them with the judge before your turn.”

“Blue and white.” Juliette set her case on the table and unbuckled the latches. The color scheme had come from her finishing school in Switzerland.

There was no time to practice, for their team was called right away. Juliette was assigned third place in the shooting order, and she stood back, watching the Bunch sisters. After each finished their turn, she understood why they were in the novice division. But they cheered for each other and seemed happy enough with their scores.

When it was Juliette’s turn, she donned her shooting glove, walked to the line, nocked her arrow, and took a deep breath.

Center of the target, steady your braced arm, pull back slowly, tighten your grip on the bow, center once more, release.

The small pop of the string impacting her gauntlet sounded at almost the same time the arrow hit the burlap. The vibration of the empty bowstring quivered up her arm.

Hmm. Not a bull. The arrow stood several inches up and to the right of center. She really was rusty.

The Bunch sisters clapped. “Well done.” Their simultaneous utterances were a bit eerie, but Juliette smiled her appreciation for their enthusiasm.

Her second arrow found the bull but still toward the right.

“Perhaps you should aim down and left?” Mrs. Carlyle said.

Juliette bit the inside of her cheek. Giving advice to a stranger was bold, especially as Mrs. Carlyle hadn’t yet established herself as a good shot.

Her third and fourth were even better, and she flexed her fingers against the slight sting of the bowstring. At one point in her schooling, she’d had distinct calluses from practicing, but with so many weeks off, they had subsided.

Juliette stepped back to allow Mrs. Carlyle to shoot and chided herself for feeling satisfaction that the woman missed the target altogether with her first attempt.

“It must be windy downrange,” Mrs. Carlyle excused her error.

Juliette turned away and busied herself with testing her bowstring. Abruptly, she lowered her hands, letting the bow hang at her side.

Daniel Swann stood behind the banner-festooned rope that separated the spectators from the competitors, his head bare, arms crossed.