Chapter Three #3
In no time she was enjoying the music. From one fast paced song, to a very slow ballad, to music that sounded like someone could dance a jig to it, the recording played tunes so foreign to her ear she couldn’t believe it had existed all this time and she’d only touched a bit of it in her one class at the conservatory.
By the end of the CD, she could hear more and more people from the town joining in. It sounded as if Webb Francis had just recorded a jam session that grew and grew and then burned it on a CD.
Soon the background changed again. Now it sounded as if they were playing for an audience. Casual, informal, with clapping at the end of each song. She heard people calling requests. It was as far from a symphony hall as anything could be.
As was the music. The fast songs were upbeat and fun. The ballads tragic and sad. The wide range had her interested as she hadn’t been in a long time.
“I have to run out to do a couple of errands,” Mary Margaret said from the door to the media room.
Angelica pulled off the headphones. “I’ll be ready to go in a minute.”
“No, no, dear, you stay as long as you want. If you leave before I return, just make sure the door shuts behind you. It’s windy outside. Wouldn’t be surprised if we have some rain. Finding what you want?”
“I am, even more than what I expected,” Angelica said with a smile.
She resumed listening, jotting notes of songs she wanted to hear more of. And wondering who could identify the songs where they didn’t announce them before they began to play. From the enthusiastic response to many, they were familiar favorites.
Kirk knocked on the door at Webb Francis’s house. He waited, scanning the trees that were already swaying in the strong breeze pushing in a storm. Angelica didn’t answer. He tried again. No one home. Where would she have gone? To the library, he bet.
Sometimes the thunderstorms knocked out power. When he realized a storm was brewing, he thought he better show her where candles were and how to use the generator for the water pump.
Now he thought he’d better find her in case it began to rain before she came home. He didn’t really want to be walking around in a thunderstorm, nor should she. He drove the truck for the short distance to town.
When he stepped up on the porch of the library, even he could hear the trees rustling in the growing wind.
He felt the strong breeze across his face.
The dark clouds from the west seemed to build above him as he detected a hint of a rain in the air.
He bet Angelica had no idea how quickly storms could brew in the mountains.
Stepping inside, he saw the main room of the library was empty. The lights were on in the media room, so he headed back there. The sudden drumming on the roof signaled the arrival of the rain. It sounded like a gully washer.
Angelica looked up when he stepped in the room.
“What’re you doing here?” she asked.
The rumble of thunder answered her.
“Stopped by the house to let you know about candles. The storms around here can knock out power for hours or even days at a time. Now it’s pouring,” he said. “You’ll need a ride home.”
He walked to the bank of windows and looked out. Already a torrential downpour began making mud. The rain came so hard it bounced on the ground. The noise on the metal roof sounded like drums.
Angelica came to stand beside him, staring in dismay at the rain.
“If we go out in that, we’ll be soaked within seconds.”
“I brought my truck. We’ll make a run for it,” he offered.
“The librarian went out on errands. She said to close up if I left before she returned.”
A white bolt of lightning lit the sky, the crash of thunder almost immediate.
Angelica jumped and bumped against Kirk.
He reached out to steady her at the same time the power went out.
Only the dim light from outside illuminated the room.
With the dark clouds overhead the day was as dark as twilight.
“My guess is she’ll stay where she is until the storm passes,” he said.
“Shouldn’t we stay here?”
“It could last for a while. Now that the power’s out, what will you do?”
He was right. With no power, she couldn’t listen to the CDs. Might as well go back home.
When they arrived at Webb Francis’s place, Kirk parked right next to the front porch, passenger side closest. Angelica dashed to the porch, getting wet. She shook her head when she was sheltered and watched as Kirk raced up, taking the three steps in one leap.
“Come on, I’ll show you where the candles are and a flashlight.”
He led the way into the kitchen, reached into the cupboard over the refrigerator and pulled down a handful of candles and a huge flashlight. He pulled matches from a drawer and lined them all up on the counter in front of a window.
“You’ll have some daylight until evening. Then it’ll really get dark.”
“Thank you.”
She tried to remember the last time they’d lost power in New York. She didn’t think they ever had since she lived there.
“What do you do for dinner?” she asked.
“I have a gas range, cook on that.”
He glanced at Webb Francis’s electric stove.
“You’re welcome to come over for dinner.”
She hesitated. She had to eat.
“If the power isn’t back on I’ll come over later.”
She escorted him to the porch. The rain seemed to be coming down in sheets, blowing in under the overhang on the side as the wind drove it.
“Call if you need anything.”
He stood so close he was crowding her against the porch railing, invading her space.
She could smell the hint of aftershave even so late in the day.
Her heart began drumming as if her body recognized his.
Which was dumb, she’d barely touched the man.
Yet something primal seemed to shimmer between them.
He was so close she could feel his breath on her face. She looked up and saw the intensity in his eyes.
“If I need anything, which I doubt, I’ll call.”
She wanted to reach out and touch him. Her fingers actually yearned to feel those hard arms, the power of his muscles beneath them.
He held his position for a moment longer and she wondered if he could read her mind. When he stepped back and turned as if to leave, she almost grabbed the railing so her wobbly knees wouldn’t give way. A whirlwind couldn’t shake her any more than being close to Kirk did.
She drew in a deep breath. Something was moving in the road. Frowning, she peered out into the rain.
“Is someone walking in this downpour?” she asked.
Kirk paused at the edge of the porch and looked. He lifted his hand in a short wave.
A moment later a young boy ran across the yard and up to the porch.
“Is Webb Francis back?” he asked.
He carried an umbrella, but it hadn’t kept him dry in the blowing rain. His jeans were wet, his hair was tousled. He looked to be about eight years old.
“No, he’s in hospital in Bryceville,” Kirk said, stooping down to face the boy at eye level.
Angelica wondered if that helped him hear.
The boy’s face dropped.
“He’s giving me fiddle lessons. I haven’t had one all week. And I need to practice so I can be in the festival.”
The sad look on his face touched Angelica.
Kirk looked up at her.
“You’re in luck, Sam, this lady plays the fiddle. She can teach you until Webb Francis gets home.”