Chapter Four
“I can’t teach him how to play,” Angelica protested.
She’d never taught anyone how to play anything.
“Make sure he know the basics, let him practice. Webb Francis will be home in a few days. He’ll probably manage sitting in a chair while Sam plays. How hard can it be?”
“I don’t know anything about children,” she countered, looking at the little boy.
He was so small she wondered how he’d hold a violin.
Then she thought about when she’d been his age—maybe even younger. She’d been so thrilled to learn to play—back in the day when all things were fantastic and the reality of constant practice hadn’t dimmed her enthusiasm. She’d been able to make music.
The echo of that thrill seemed dim in all that had transpired over the decades since.
“Sam Tanner, meet Angelica Cannon. She plays the fiddle and can help you along until Webb Francis comes home.”
Kirk made the announcement as if she’d agreed.
“Hi,” the boy said with a hopeful gleam in his eyes. “Can you teach me?”
“Make me out to be the bad guy if I say no,” she muttered.
“Say again?” Kirk said standing and watching her with amusement in his gaze.
He knew what he’d done. How could she disappoint a child?
“Never mind. I guess we can give it a try.” She didn’t sound very enthusiastic, because she had no clue where to begin.
“Thanks, Ms. Cannon. I have to use Webb Francis’s fiddle, I don’t have one of my own. But he lets me.”
“Maybe Angelica could let you try hers,” Kirk said.
“No way. That instrument is worth thousands. If Webb Francis said the boy could use one of his, then he needs to use that one.”
“His name is Sam.”
“Sam,” Angelica repeated offering a smile to the child.
She wasn’t used to being around children. Her life had been devoted to the violin since she was six.
“Come on inside, then, and we’ll see. You coming?” she asked Kirk when Sam began walking to the front door.
“Naw, I’ve got things to do. Besides, I can’t hear enough to really enjoy the music.”
She almost laughed. How much enjoyment would there be with a beginning child? Then the reality of what he said hit. It made her sad to think he couldn’t enjoy all the sounds of the world. She was a little burned out, but she could never imagine life without music.
“If the power’s off still at dinner, come and eat with me.”
He said goodbye to Sam and admonished him to be good, then dashed back to the truck and backed out of the short driveway.
Once inside, doubts assailed. She truly didn’t know how to teach.
Sam seemed to know exactly what to do, however. He stowed his umbrella in a stand near the front door and walked confidently into the music room. He picked up one of the violins and turned to her, his eyes shining.
“Show me what you already know,” she said.
He spent a few minutes playing the strings.
It sounded in good tune which surprised her.
The damp humid air had to have some effect on the instrument.
He tightened one string, tried again and then smiled.
The next thing she knew he was playing an unfamiliar song, slowly and hesitantly, but she could recognize a definite melody.
When he was finished, he lowered his arms and looked hopeful.
“What was that song?” she asked, sitting in a nearby chair.
“‘Granny Does Your Dog Bite.’ It’s the one I want to play in the festival. Webb Francis was helping me learn it. It’s supposed to go fast.”
“Do you have music?” she asked.
He shook his head. “No, Webb Francis says the real artiste plays by knowing how it’s suppose to sound. Do you think I can be a real artiste one day? I can practice every day if you’re here.”
Angelica was enchanted with the child’s determination. She wasn’t sure how the song should sound, but if he was happy with it, she’d go along with that.
“Yes, I think you’ll do great at the music festival.”
She studied the little boy for a moment, then jumped up.
“I’ll get my violin and we’ll have a session together, how’s that?”
“Violin?” he asked.
“My fiddle,” she said, giving in.
When in Kentucky…
Hurrying to her room, she retrieved the old instrument and almost laughed aloud. What would her parents think if they knew she wanted to play American folk music on the priceless heirloom?
Kirk stoked the fire and sat back. It was growing dark.
The brunt of the storm had passed by several hours ago, but the steady rain lingered.
Power was still out. Probably would be until morning.
The air had grown cooler. He’d made a small fire in the fireplace.
Suitable for cooking hot dogs and marshmallows.
A couple of times during the afternoon, he’d glanced over at the house next door. He hadn’t seen Sam leave. Nor had he seen any activity over there. What was Angelica doing to while away the afternoon?
He was about to go over to make sure she was okay when he heard a knock on the door. Opening it a moment later he saw his neighbor. Droplets of rain shone on her hair. She wore a sweatshirt that was already damp on the shoulders.
“You should have a hammer by the door, I almost broke my hand banging,” she grumbled as she stared up at him.
“Most friends just come in and let me know they’re here.”
“I’m not a friend. I don’t know the mores of this area. In New York, one most definitely knocks first.”
And waits while the other person unlocked several locks.
He nodded.
“Come for dinner?”
He stepped back and gestured her in.
She looked around the living room, her eyes widening in surprise.
Kirk knew she expected rustic to go with the exterior of the log home, but the inside was comfortable and quite modern.
The comfy sofa was long enough he could lie down if watching TV, or wanting a nap.
The matching arm chairs were sturdy enough for any of his wild friends, and the colors were ones Alice had talked about before she walked out.
He knew enough to use them to make his home comfortable.
It was his place, now, and he no longer thought about her every time he walked into the room.
“This is lovely,” Angelica said.
“About ready for dinner. Come on through to the kitchen. We’ll use the fire for our meal, but you can help carry things out. Want to take off your wet sweatshirt?”
She nodded, and he hung it over the back of a chair. It should dry before long, it wasn’t that wet.
She dutifully followed him into the kitchen, exclaiming in delight when she saw it. It was less than five years old and he’d spared no expense when building. He wanted something that would last.
“Beautiful. Do you cook all the time?” she asked, turning around to see everything.
“I cook my own meals.”
“Gourmet cooking?”
She brushed her fingertips across the edge of the stainless steel gas range.
“Hardly. Hamburgers, hot dogs, steaks, pretty limited repertoire.”
Probably seemed boring to someone from New York.
He pulled hot dogs and buns and condiments from the refrigerator and piled them on the counter. Angelica picked up some and carried them into the living room. In only a few moments all the items they needed for dinner were on the small table near the fire.
He pulled out two sticks he’d cut from a willow earlier and handed her one.
She stared at it.
“What is this for?”
“Thread on your hot dog like this,” he said, taking one and poking the stick in lengthwise. “Then we hold it over the fire to cook.”
“You’re kidding.”
She watched a moment then with an air of determination followed suit and soon had her own hot dog cooking over the flames.
“When they’re done, we’ll pull them off in the bun, top with condiments and have a feast,” he said, suiting actions to words.
Munching on the hot dog a few minutes later, Kirk watched Angelica eat. She was dainty, testing each mouthful as if uncertain.
“Don’t like hot dogs?”
“I don’t eat them much,” she said, taking another bite. She nodded. “These are good.”
Kirk couldn’t remember having someone over to camp out while the power was gone. Usually he would either eat alone, or head out to the café which had a generator for situations like this.
“This is fun,” she said with a hint of surprise.
“Tell me how the lesson went.”
She nodded, still chewing. Then she swallowed and smiled.
“He’s surprisingly good. It’s not what I would have started him on, but I guess Webb Francis thought he could do it.
I think I learned more than he did. Practice might have him ready for the festival.
I followed him, let the music take hold and was able to play along.
Just what I came down here for. I didn’t know my first foray would be with a little boy.
We played Granny Does Your Dog Bite, know it? ”
“Of course.”
He moved back and leaned against the front of the sofa, stretching his feet out.
“That was nice of you, New York, to help him.”
She finished her hot dog, put down the plate and scooted back to sit beside him. It was too warm to sit very close to the fire. The rain had cooled things down, but not that much.
“I liked it. Which surprised me. I’m an only child and have never been around children.”
“Except when you were one,” he said.
“Not much then—except in school. I had to practice in the afternoons.”
“Why?”
“I was a child prodigy and my parents wanted me to make the most of my talent.”
“So what was that like?”
Angelica began telling him a bit about growing up in Boston.
The more Kirk heard, the more he thought of deprivation and lack.
She didn’t appear to have had the kind of childhood he’d enjoyed—roaming around, exploring things, hanging out with his friends.
Even getting into trouble with some wild hijinks.
Instead, she painted a picture of a little girl and later a teenager who did little but study academics and the violin. She mentioned different recitals and programs she played in. Maybe if he knew more, he’d be impressed, but mostly he felt the lack.
“Doesn’t that wear on you? When did you go to the beach with friends, shop at the mall, explore historic Boston?”
“No time.”