Angel of Smoky Hollow (12 page)

He looked around. “There're a lot of people.” His eyes were wide as he took in the crowd.

“And every one will be pleased to hear you play,” she assured him, handing him his fiddle. “Just pay attention to the music and the fiddle and pretend it's just you and me.”

He looked dubious but nodded. “'Kay,” he said.

Gina called for quiet and then read out the roster. “Everyone just sit where you are until time to do your bit,” she concluded.

Angelica sat on the grass, bemused to think of how they rehearsed for the philharmonic. She almost laughed thinking of how the others would be astonished to just sit on the grass until it was time to perform.

One by one the groups played. She loved the jugs and washboard band. The bluegrass group with banjos, drums and fiddles had her keeping time to the lively music. As the afternoon rolled on, she noticed how everyone joined in the spirit of things, clapping along, laughing, cheering.

At last it was the turn of the individuals. “This is not the order we'll do for the actual performance,” Gina said, coming
to stand near their group. “I plan to intersperse individuals between the groups. But for today I just want a feeling of how everything sounds. Bob, you and your harmonica are first up.”

The haunting melody of “Shenandoah” soon filled the field. At the conclusion everyone cheered.

“Okay, Sam Tanner—you're on,” Gina said with a smile.

He rose, took the fiddle from the case and the music. Shyly looking around, he looked at Angelica for support.

She smiled encouragingly. “You can do it, Sam. Make me proud.”

The little boy set his music, placed the fiddle beneath his chin and began the song he'd practiced all summer. Soon people were clapping, smiling, calling encouragement. He finished to a huge ovation and beamed his pride at Angelica.

“I knew you could to it, Sam. You'll be a smash at the festival.” She gave him a quick hug.

“You're up next, Angelica.”

Suddenly a wave a stage fright threatened to choke her. She stood, feeling as awkward and nervous as at her audition for the philharmonic.

“You can do it, Miss Cannon,” Sam whispered.

She smiled at him. He was right, she could.

“I thought I'd do two, if that's okay,” she said to Gina.

At her nod, Angelica began one of her solo pieces from the last symphony. The haunting music filled the area and she glanced around, trying to gauge the reaction of the rest of the performers. Most were smiling. Odd how she could see everyone. When the song ended, applause was heartfelt.

Putting the violin in place a second time, she began “Orange Blossom Special.” It was fast and furious and she would have liked more practice but as she played the rest of the performers began clapping, whistling and calling encouragement. She relaxed and began to enjoy herself. Letting her gaze sweep the crowd she realized she was part of a gathering of people
who shared the same love of music and made that love known. Halfway through someone yelled out, “Faster!”

She looked around, not sure who it was, but she'd give it her best. Increasing the tempo she met a roar of approval from everyone. Faster and faster she played the familiar song until she reached the end.

The applause was amazing. She grinned and held her violin up like a trophy. Those sitting stood, the clapping went on and on and the calls for do it again began to swell.

Gina came to give her a hug. “Always a crowd pleaser. Can you do it again?”

“Sure.”

It was more fun than anything she'd ever done with the violin. She played the song again and the crowd showed its delight. She had never felt the give and take in a performance like she did today. It was heady beyond belief.

She sat down after that, even though several people asked for something else.

“Okay, let's not overwhelm our guest,” Gina said with a broad smile. “She'll play at the festival. Mary Margaret, you're up next.”

“Don't know if I want to follow her,” the librarian said with a smile for Angelica. She had a guitar and soon began to sing a sad ballad of lost love.

Sam scooted over close to Angelica. “Thank you for helping me,” he whispered.

She reached out and gave him a hug. “It's my pleasure.”

After everyone had played, Gina declared the rehearsal a success and scheduled one for the day before the event, when they'd play in order of the festival.

Rachel Tanner appeared for Sam. When she heard Angelica would have to call Kirk for a ride, she insisted on taking her home.

“Mom, I did good. And everyone clapped,” Sam said, jumping excitedly.

“He did amazing. We all loved it,” Angelica said when she was in the truck, the little boy between her and his mom, both violin cases in her lap.

“Webb Francis said he had some aptitude for it. Thank you for letting him practice even with Webb Francis gone,” Rachel Tanner said. “We sure do appreciate it.”

“He'll go far if he wants,” Angelica said. Was this how her professors felt when she achieved some honor? When they knew they'd been instrumental in helping her along such a demanding career? She was as happy for Sam as she was for her own performance.

“Miss Cannon played ‘Orange Blossom Special' and then she played it really fast.”

“I love that song. That's your piece for the festival?” Rachel asked.

“Yes, one of them. And one from a classical selection.”

“You'll be a big hit with that one. I'll love to hear one of the songs you play in New York,” she said.

Angelica was pleased with the way the day had gone. Very different from the rehearsals for the orchestra.

Once dropped off at the house, she went in and put the violins away, then looked over at Kirk's house. She was too excited not to share. A minute later she was peeping into the open door of the studio. He was working on the sculpture and she paused a moment to watch him before he knew she was there. She felt a yearning for things that couldn't be. How wonderful to rush to share her day with him. To learn what he'd done. To watch as he made beauty from chunks of wood. To have him sweep her up in a hug and kiss.

She could only see a partial side view of his face, but the concentration was evident. He put down the chisel and took some sandpaper, rubbing it gently along the line he'd just carved. His hands were steady and skilled. She could watch him for hours. But the bubbling excitement from the day couldn't be contained.

“Kirk,” she said, stepping inside.

He looked up. “Back already? How did it go? How did you get home?”

“Sam's mother gave me a lift. It was wonderful. I loved hearing all the music, watching everyone playing. It was amazing.” She came to the table and looked at the art work. She could see the woman in the lone figure, see the trees both welcoming and a bit foreboding. How did he manage that?

“This is wonderful. I can really see the shape now,” she said reaching out to touch lightly. His work called for touch.

“It's coming along. Tell me about the practice.”

She beamed at him. “Totally unlike any rehearsal I've been to. It was such fun! The songs were so different from what I'm used to it was like magic. I couldn't have imagined it before. Now I wonder if I can go back to the philharmonic. In comparison, it doesn't come close. We sat on the grass and everyone encouraged everyone else. It was wild and a bit uncontrolled, but loads of fun.”

“Music is music, different tastes for different folks,” he said. “Think of all the pleasure you give to those who attend the philharmonic.”

“I guess. But it's hard slogging through hours of practice every day. It's more of a job than a love. Today was about loving to share music.”

“You've been practicing since you've been here. What's different from back in New York?”

“It's just different.” She picked up a chisel and looked at it, placing it gently back on the table. “Here it's pure fun. Trying new songs, mastering intricate melodies. I played ‘Orange Blossom Special' and everyone was smiling and laughing, clapping. Urging me on. I felt like everyone there was sending vibes to encourage me. That is not something I get at practice in New York.”

He shrugged, watching her with that intensity she now expected.

“Sam was wonderful,” she continued. “He started out a bit shy and nervous, but soon was fully into the song and everyone was just as encouraging for him as for everyone else. It didn't matter he was only eight or this was his first try.” She swept her arms wide. “This was the best day!” Her hands dropped to her sides.

“And you made it possible,” she said smiling broadly at him.

“I didn't do anything,” he said.

“You believed in me and my right to make my own decisions. That's special. You're coming to the festival, right?”

He hesitated for a moment and Angelica remembered his hearing loss. Maybe it wasn't as much fun if the music couldn't be heard in full range. But she really wanted him to hear her play. If he sat near the front, she'd play right to him.

“Sure, I'll be there.”

 

Kirk watched as she continued to talk about her amazing day. His heart ached with desire to pull her into his arms, kiss her with celebration. Hear every detail. She was so happy. He wanted to always remember her just like this. Completely content and happy in the day. In the months and years ahead, he'd always pull out this memory when thinking of Angelica. Years wouldn't dim the happiness. Time wouldn't tarnish this perfect moment. He imprinted it forever on his mind.

She stopped talking and cocked her head to the left. “Are you listening to me?”

He nodded, wishing she'd stay forever, knowing she couldn't. Her future did not lie in Smoky Hollow.

W
HEN
A
NGELICA LEFT
a short time later, Kirk leaned against the table, feeling as if he'd run a marathon. The effort to keep from touching her had been tremendous. But he couldn't get more involved. He remembered how he'd felt when Alice returned his ring. The message had been clear—there was more she wanted from life than him.

If he'd gone after her, would that have changed any thing?

But he hadn't.

He hadn't known Angelica nearly as long as he'd known Alice. This burning in his blood for her could be extinguished in a short order. It only felt deeper and stronger than what he'd felt for Alice because it was fresh and immediate. Once she left—he didn't want to think about that day. Get through this one. Focus on his work. Ignore the clamoring of his senses to spend more time with her. Dinner together would be nice. Maybe some dancing so he could hold her close, breathe in the sweet scent of her, memorize the feel of her body against his. He knew she wasn't very worldly in her personal life. Could he be the one to show her how passion could spark and flare between them?

He didn't need dancing, he felt as if every inch of her had been imprinted on him when they'd kissed. Wandering around the county fair, he'd thought about countless fairs in the future, holding hands, trying for the teddy bear.

He picked up the sandpaper, not trusting himself just yet with a sharp tool that could gouge as wrongly as certainly as it could the way he wanted. Slowly he let the rhythm of sanding soothe his blood. He could do this. She'd be gone soon.

The days might be tough to get through initially, but before Christmas, she'd only be a vague memory. Okay, maybe by next summer.

He threw down the paper in disgust. He was never ever going to forget Angelica Cannon. Closing the studio, he headed out. Maybe his granddad would welcome some company for supper.

When he called him, Hiram answered right away. “Sure, come on over. Bring that New York gal with you. I've found some more music for her. Songs my mother sang when I was a boy. Seeing them again reminded me of her voice, like an angel.”

Kirk almost groaned in defeat. Even his grandfather was working against him. He couldn't very well explain why he wanted not to be with Angelica. That would give rise to speculation he could do without. No sympathy this time around when nursing a broken heart. He'd had more than enough of that with Alice's defection.

“I'll ask her, she may have other plans.”

“What could she be doing in Smoky Hollow that you wouldn't already know?” his grandfather asked.

“I don't keep track of her every moment,” Kirk responded—though he'd like to.

“I heard the festival participants had a rehearsal today,” Hiram said.

Kirk never ceased to be amazed at how much his grandfather knew without ever stepping foot in town.

“She loved it,” he said.

“Figured she would. She can tell me over dinner. I'll put on the barbecue, you can cook.”

Kirk gave in with as much grace as he could muster. “Okay. We'll be over around six.”

 

Angelica had been delighted to accept the invitation when Kirk called her. He rolled out his motorcycle and went to pick her up shortly before six.

She was still excited about her afternoon. “I can tell your grandfather all about it. I still want him to sing at the festival. Do you think he will?” she asked as she put on the helmet.

“No, but you can ask.”

As if they'd been riding partners for years, she easily slid into the space behind him and wrapped her arms around him. He could have taken the truck. She never would have been this close in the truck. Her arms were warm, her hands clenched across his belly. He wanted to impress the feeling of her breasts pressing against his back. Turn and pull her into his arms and kiss her until they both forgot the day.

Instead he tried to concentrate on driving and ignore the heated blood that shot through his veins.

Hiram was watching for them and came out as soon as they drove into the yard. His dog barked a welcome and danced around them, stirring dust in the air.

“Hey, missy, tell me how things went at the rehearsal,” he greeted her as soon as Kirk stopped.

For the next few minutes Kirk sat on the bike, watching as Angelica charmed his grandfather with her enthusiasm and honest assessment of everything she'd seen. She was high on praise and brought in slyly that another singer was needed in her opinion to balance things out.

“I could put in a good word for you with Gina,” she ended, grinning at Hiram.

Kirk watched as his grandfather seemed to consider the suggestion. Could he really think about singing in the festival again?

The three of them prepared dinner. Angelica insisting on helping. When they sat around the old farm table, Kirk tried to remember the last time a woman had been there for dinner. Hiram was as animated as Kirk had ever seen. Her visit was good for the old man. He hoped she'd remember them once in a while and maybe drop a note.

“So you see, you're needed,” she concluded when she finished another plea for his singing. “I think you should sing that song you told me the words to. Could I learn the music in time do you think? I hunted around and actually found the sheet music in Webb Francis's stack. I could accompany you.”

Hiram looked at Kirk.

“What do you think?”

“About her learning the music, from what I know she can practically hear a song once and play it. Do you want to sing?”

Hiram looked back and forth between them. “Maybe I do.”

“Wonderful. Let's call Gina right now. Do you have her number?” she asked, looking at Kirk.

“It's in the book. Really, Granddad?”

“Don't you think I can?” he asked testily.

“I think it would be a miracle and a wonderful one at that,” Kirk said.

“Call her. See what she says,” Hiram instructed Angelica.

Ten minutes later a smiling Angelica hung up the phone. “She's thrilled. Says that'll get even more people there.”

“Coming to see if I still have the voice, I expect,” Hiram said wryly.

She laughed. “You'll show them. Shall I practice to accompany you?”

“Sure, who else would I want?”

“Let's see what we have, so I can start in the morning,” she said.

“I'll clean up,” Kirk offered as they both rose to go to the front of the house to discuss the music. He did the dishes, walked outside to check on things around the farm. The fence had been reinforced. The hogs seemed happy enough in their large pens. He rested a foot on a lower bar and leaned against it, looking at the darkening sky.

He mentally counted the days until the festival. Could he last that long? Maybe he'd take a quick trip to Atlanta and visit the gallery there that carried his work. See what the feedback was from patrons and get some ideas for another statue.

Or he could stay at home, work on the woman on the precipice carving and deal with having Angelica close for another couple of weeks and practice saying goodbye so when the time came, he wouldn't blow it.

 

The next morning Kirk had hardly finished his coffee when the phone rang. It was his grandfather.

“I'm coming in to see Angelica, we're going to practice in Webb Francis's music room. She has students coming this afternoon, so we're going to claim mornings for our practice.”

“Good.”

“Let's have lunch. She said you have an amazing sculpture you're working on. Can an old man see it?”

“Anytime, you know that. If I'm in the studio, come on in. Might have to be interrupted to remember it's lunchtime.”

His grandfather would spend hours with Angelica over the next weeks. If he could hear, if he could sing, he could have been the one volunteering for the festival, just to spend time with her. He envied his grandfather.

How pathetic was that.

 

The next week passed quickly. Kirk grew used to his grandfather coming to visit Angelica every morning. In the afternoon she had Teresa Ann and Sam over to practice. Kirk rarely saw
her. Which, he tried to convince himself, was just what he wanted. He took on another job helping a renovation with a family on the far side of town. It was exasperating work, with the other workers constantly trying his patience. Evenings he worked on his sculpture. In between, he stayed as far from home as he could.

Not seeing her every day did not diminish the yearning to be with her, however. Much as he hoped out of sight, out of mind would be the norm, it didn't work that way.

Ten days after his grandfather began practicing with Angelica, Kirk rode over to the farm early to share breakfast with him.

“You've been busy,” Hiram said when they sat down to eat.

Kirk nodded.

“Angelica said she hadn't seen you. She's busy, too, of course, getting ready for the festival,” Hiram continued.

Kirk watched him a moment. “You still singing?”

Hiram nodded. “Got it all squared away. You coming?”

Kirk nodded. “Said I would. I'd like to hear you sing again. Those are good memories I had from when I was a kid.” When he never thought of the future, never considered life wouldn't go along as good as he'd had back then. For a moment he wished he could turn back the clock.

But would he really do anything differently? He'd still serve his country in the military, still be partially deaf. Maybe he would have let Angelica get off the bus and find her way.

No, that would never have happened. No use wishing for the past. It wouldn't change a thing.

“Hope you can hear me well enough,” the old man said.

They rarely talked about Kirk's lack of hearing, but his comment warmed Kirk. He hoped he could hear both Hiram and Angelica—enough to appreciate their skills. He knew he'd hear the applause when they finished.

“Jody Miller called a couple of days ago, asking me if you were off your feed or something.”

“Why would he call you? I've been working on a renovation project at his place.”

“I know, and he said you're acting like a bear with a sore paw. Something eating at you?” Kirk shrugged.

“A pretty gal from New York, maybe?” his grandfather guessed.

“She'll be gone soon.”

“And that's what's eating at you, right?”

Kirk looked at the older man, then sighed and nodded.

“She's a looker and has a sweet disposition. Reminds me a bit of your grandma when she was young and sassy. I did that all wrong. Regretted it all these years.”

Kirk was staggered. His grandfather never spoke of his wife. Kirk had never heard him say he regretted things—or that he might be at fault.

“Devon men just can't keep their women,” Kirk said.

“If I'd treated her better, she might have stayed. Not so with your mother, I don't think. Your dad did all he could for her—she flat-out didn't want to stay in Smoky Hollow.”

“Like Alice.”

“Yes, but that gal was restless from the get-go. Think back, all through high school she talked of going someplace else.”

“So did I. And I went. Found I like this place best.”

“Alice needed that chance. Only when she took it, she didn't like Smoky Hollow best. You don't have to stay here, Kirk. You're young, you can do your wood sculptures anywhere, work construction anywhere like you did before. If there's something sizzling between you and Angelica, don't let it go.”

“I've never heard you talk like this,” Kirk said.

“A man gets to being old and alone and thinks back to how he might have changed things in the past.”

“I don't see as how I'd change anything,” Kirk said.

“I do. A whole lot. And maybe your dad would be alive today, and maybe I'd have had a house full of young'uns. Can't change it now, of course. But don't you make my mistakes. Go after what you want. And make sure anything holding you back is real and not pride or false values. You hear me?”

Kirk nodded.

“We'll see,” he said. He didn't like the way the conversation was going so he changed the topic to farm matters. Easier to deal with his grandfather on routine matters. Just before he was set to leave, Hiram looked at him. “You hear from Webb Francis?”

“Yeah, the other day. He's doing better. Plans to be at the festival. Front row seat, he says.”

“He going to play?”

“Not this year, but he's anticipating hearing Angelica. He wondered if she'd do a classical piece as well. That's what she plays in New York.”

“I asked her. She is,” Hiram said.

“Be something to hear, I expect.” He just hoped he could.

Kirk went to the library after leaving the farm, to use the Internet. He searched on Angelica's name and was surprised to find how many references he found. Reading through the first dozen or so, he realized how valuable a member she was of the philharmonic—a true rising star. The accolades were heartfelt. The fame of his young neighbor apparently was well established in the music community of New York and parts of Europe.

The last bit of wishful hope that she'd consider staying in Smoky Hollow died.

And he'd be doing her and the music world a disservice to even ask her to stay. She had a bright future. This was a short piece out of time.

He should make the most of it instead of ignoring what
was right in front of him. There were two weeks left before the festival. Once that was past, she'd be gone. Could he deal with fourteen days of Angelica and then let her go?

Could he regret not spending those days with her for the rest of his life?

 

Angelica heard the knock on the door as she was finishing making her sandwich. She went to the front door. Kirk stood there.

“Busy?” he asked.

She hadn't seen him for a week and now he shows up as if yesterday was the last time he'd seen her.