Chapter One #2
The shoulder was gravel and dirt and not wide enough to walk on. Would it be any cooler if she could take to the dirt instead of the asphalt? She was growing grateful to her guide that he’d taken the backpack. She was so hot!
“She does. And makes the best pancakes this side of the Mississippi. You tell her you want some one morning and she’ll pile them on your plate. You look like you need some good down-home cooking.”
Angelica frowned. Was that a backhanded comment about her slender frame? Or an insult? Did he think women needed more curves to be attractive?
What did she care? He was some backwoods guy, not one of the men of influence she was used to dating. Not a patron of the arts, not a subscriber to the symphony. He probably wouldn’t recognize genuine world class music if it hit him on the head.
His longer gait had her rushing to keep up. Not that she’d ask for him to slow down. That’d only prolong her listening to the slow Southern drawl and risk forgetting any good sense remaining.
Though how dashing away in the night showed good sense, she wasn’t sure. She hadn’t been a prisoner. She should have stayed and shown the logic of her choices.
Only, she still couldn’t envision herself standing up against her parents. They had done so much for her. They only wanted the very best. How ungrateful she’d be to rail against everything.
And it wasn’t as if she was turning her back on her life. For the most part she enjoyed music. It was only lately—she needed a break. She was flat-out burned out.
Try as she might, they never listened to her. Always pushing, always saying they knew what was best for her. She was almost twenty-eight years old. Surely she had to know what was best for her by now.
Coming here without confirming her would be host was available didn’t show such good sense—even she had to admit that. But she had come and now she’d make the most of whatever chance she found. It was only temporary. Worst case, she could relax for a few days and then make new plans.
Through the trees she caught a glimpse of a large white clapboard structure.
As they rounded a slight bend in the road, Angelica saw the house straight-on.
A bit shabby in appearance, nevertheless it was impressive, with a wide porch, dormer windows flanked by green shutters and an immaculate green lawn.
Flowering bushes encircled the base of the house.
A colorful flower plot in the center of the lawn surrounded an old oak tree whose shade was just starting to touch the wide front porch of the house.
Rocking chairs and benches lined up in a row.
Did every building in Smoky Hollow have a porch? She’d heard Southerners were laid back group. It had to be the heat. She’d like to lie down until the temperature dropped about twenty degrees. Maybe sitting in the shade was the next best thing.
Kirk stepped on the porch and banged on a screen door. The wooden door to the house stood open wide and a moment later a woman bustled down the hall that stretched out from the door, wiping her hands on a dish towel.
“Kirk, gracious, good to see you. Is there something wrong?”
“Hey Sally Ann. I brought you a paying guest.”
“I declare.”
She opened the screen door and stepped out, looking at Angelica with curiosity.
“Was I expecting you?” she asked, tilting her head slightly and smiling.
She tucked the dish towel in the top of her apron.
Angelica shook her head.
“Mr. Devon said you might have room. I came to see Webb Francis Muldoon and learned he’s not here.”
“No, poor man, sick as can be in Bryceville. Mae went over this morning to see him. Evelyn and Paul will be going tomorrow. When are you going back, Kirk?”
“Might take this young lady to see him tomorrow if that’s what she wants,” he said, flicking a glance at Angelica.
Angelica studied him for a moment. Her common sense told her to stay away from this man. She could forget her own name if she wasn’t careful. Yet if he offered transportation she’d take it.
With her expected ally gone, she needed to reassess everything. How long would Webb Francis be sick? What was she to do in the meantime?
“I’d pay for the ride to Bryceville,” she said looking straight at Kirk.
His face pulled into a frown.
“Not if I’m going that way anyway. I’ll leave around ten. Meet me at the store.”
He turned and gave Sally Ann a wide smile.
“You take care of this one. She’s not used to Kentucky.”
He handed Angelica the backpack.
Angelica couldn’t argue the point, but she wondered how obvious she appeared. She felt like a stranger on a different planet. Glass and concrete canyons shadowed by tall buildings was her milieu. The breeze blowing from the Hudson. Or freezing winters fighting slush and traffic and time.
Her reluctant guide turned and began walking back the way they’d came.
“Thank you,” she called, ever mindful of manners her mother had drummed into her head.
He didn’t acknowledge her appreciation.
“He can’t hear you,” Sally Ann said. “Come on in. I’ve got a nice room right on the front of the house. Gets the breeze at night. Quiet, too, unless those Slade boys are carrying on.”
Angelica nodded and followed her hostess into the house, wondering who the Slade boys were and what carrying on meant.
The tall ceilings kept the temperature tolerable.
It was a relief to be out of the sun. Climbing stairs that creaked with each step, she wondered how old the house was.
The faded wallpaper on the walls gave the feeling of days gone by—long gone by.
But the house was spotlessly clean. And smelled like apple pie.
“Here it is. What do you think?”
Sally Ann stepped into a large room with wide windows overlooking the street. The oak tree in front shaded it from the sun. It wasn’t as cool as air-conditioning could achieve, but it was pleasant enough. Definitely twenty or more degrees cooler than outside.
The double bed was covered with an old quilt. There was a slipper chair near one of the windows, a large double-wide bureau and knickknacks galore from little ceramic kittens playing with yarn to old figurines of ladies in antebellum attire.
“This is nice,” Angelica said, taking it all in.
It was vastly different from her sleek Manhattan apartment, with chrome and leather furnishings and modern art on the walls. This was warm and homey. She’d never seen a place like it. She liked it.
“Supper’s at six. If you don’t eat here, there’s a good diner in town. Which isn’t too far a walk. Without a car, you’re going to be hard-pressed to find anything else you can walk to and get back before dark.”
“I’d like supper here,” Angelica said, slowly lowering her backpack to the floor.
Her precious violin she hugged against her chest for comfort. She felt it was the only familiar thing in life right now.
“Meals are extra.” Sally Ann quoted a figure that was ridiculously low.
Angelica smiled and nodded.
“I’d like that.”
If everything was that cheap in Kentucky, she could stay longer than originally planned.
If Webb Francis got well and agreed to help her.
And if she could keep her mind on work and not the disturbing presence of Kirk Devon.
Kirk planned to call Webb Francis as soon as he reached a phone. Did the man know Angelica Cannon? He hadn’t seemed worried about an invited guest showing up when Kirk saw him yesterday.
The more he thought about it, the odder it seemed.
What would a young woman whom no one ever heard of have in common with Webb Francis—except for the fiddle.
Webb Francis was a world-class fiddle player.
At the music festivals and hootenannies held in and around Smoky Hollow, Webb Francis was renowned for his talent.
Could she be a student wannabe? That would explain the violin case she guarded.
Melvin and Paul still held the fort on the porch of the store. There were a couple of others from town chatting with them. Waiting. When they spotted Kirk, the questions began to fly as everyone wanted to know more about the woman who came to visit Webb Francis.
“I don’t know any more than you do. I’m taking her over to see him tomorrow. Maybe that’ll clear things up.”
He spoke another minute or two to the neighbors then headed for home. It was hot. Late July in Kentucky was always hot. He’d been in hotter places. But a long time ago. Time and places he didn’t want to remember.
Next time he’d take his motorcycle. It wasn’t a long walk to town, but midday wasn’t the time to be out walking in the sun.
Reaching the log cabin built as if it grew directly from the forest floor, Kirk went straight to his phone. In a moment he was connected to Webb Francis at the hospital.
“You expecting an Angelica Cannon?” Kirk asked after ascertaining his friend was improving.
“Who?”
“Some woman with a fiddle in a case, backpack, faded jeans and a secretive attitude.”
“It doesn’t sound like anyone I know. Far as I can remember, no one’s going to show up to see me.”
“Claims she was expecting to see you. I figure she’s going to try to talk you into giving her some lessons or something.”
Webb Francis coughed for a long moment. Then said, “I’m not up to that. Send her on her way.”
“I’m bringing her in to see you tomorrow.”
“I’m not up to taking on a student. The doctors here can’t even tell me when I’m going home.”
“Rest up. We’ll sort this out tomorrow. She’s staying at Sally Ann’s tonight. If you’re not up to seeing her, she can come back after you get well. Need anything?”
Webb Francis coughed again.
“Naw, I’m good. It’ll be good to see you, Kirk. I don’t know about some stranger.”
“Take it easy. I’ll handle things.”
“You always do. Good thing for me and your granddad you came home when you did.”
Kirk stared out the window at the bank of trees. Good and bad. If he hadn’t returned, he could believe Alice was waiting for him.
Still—his grandfather needed him. He’d seen the sights he’d wanted to see. It had been time to return home.
“See you tomorrow,” he said and slowly hung up the phone.
Action kept memories at bay. He rose and went to the studio behind his house. He could get in some serious work this afternoon. And evening. And maybe think a bit more about the stranger who looked sad and lost and a bit scared.
She presented a puzzle. Strangers didn’t come to Smoky Hollow often.
Faded jeans and cotton top could be clothes of anyone.
But her porcelain complexion and wide, tired blue eyes spoke of something different.
Who had such creamy white skin these days?
Her blond hair had been pulled back into a ponytail at the nape of her neck, sleek and shiny.
What would it look like loose in a bank of waves framing her face?
He shook his head. He didn’t need interest rising at this juncture.
He knew enough to know whatever her story, she wouldn’t be long in Smoky Hollow.
And he’d had enough trouble with women in the past. Something had always been missing.
He didn’t think about it any more. He liked his life just the way it was now. No complications, no drama.
And a tad lonely.
He pushed away the thought when he entered the structure a short distance behind his house.
He’d built both buildings himself, using the knowledge and skill he’d picked up from many construction projects over the years.
From the outside, both the house and shed merely looked like log cabins.
Inside he had utilized the finer aspects of carpentry that enabled the house to be comfortable and stylish.
The studio was a different matter. With strongly insulated walls, it was cool in summer, warm in winter, and totally utilitarian.
Standing in the doorway, he flipped on the switch.
The daylight fixtures bathed the entire space in plenty of light.
The tall windows added natural daylight.
In the center of the building stood the sculptured piece of wood he was currently working.
Five feet tall, it was not quite life-size.
A mother with a baby in her arms and a child clinging to her knee, the semi-abstract rendition gave the illusion of motherhood everywhere without details to features and age.
The carving part was finished. He walked around it, studying it from every angle.
Next was the final stage—sanding until it was as smooth as glass.
Then applying the stain that would bring out the natural luster of the wood.
Bring the statue to life. He reached for the first sandpaper and began long even strokes down the length of the back.
Caught up in his work, he didn’t realize the passage of time until he felt the pangs of hunger. Glancing at his watch, he realized it was after midnight. He hadn’t eaten since lunch. Time to take a break. He placed the staining cloth in an airtight container, put the used sandpaper in the trash.
Studying the figure once more, he was pleased. The deep stain had highlighted the grain of the wood. The smooth finish was pleasing to touch. He knew Bianca would snap it up for her gallery. He’d take photos tomorrow to send to her. Once they agreed on price, he’d load it up and deliver.
It was cooler than expected when he stepped outside.
He walked the familiar path from his studio to home with out light.
He knew every inch of his property—and most of the surrounding properties as well.
Another way to keep the memories at bay, walk in the dark where he could become attuned with nature, and forget the curve balls life some times threw.