Chapter Eleven
The air was festive, the crowd good-natured and ready for fun.
When Angelica and Sam and the Tanner family arrived at the fairgrounds, the parking lot was already half full and the performance wasn’t scheduled to start for another hour.
They’d arrived early and Angelica was surprised to see so many others had also arrived early.
They hurried to the amphitheater and found Gina who was marshaling everyone into places in the lineup.
Sam hugged Webb Francis’s violin and stayed so close to Angelica she almost stumbled over him when she turned once.
She looked at him. His eyes were big, watching everything around him, and darting from time to time to the stage. The crowd couldn’t be seen from their location, but she could hear the people.
She stooped down and faced him.
“Sam, look at me.”
He complied, looking as if he was going to cry.
She smiled gently.
“You are eight years old and performing at your first festival. I want you to remember what a fun time we had all these weeks playing the fiddle. I want you to always remember your first time here. You’ll probably play every festival from now until you’re as old as Mr. Devon.
But this will always be your first time.
Have fun, sweetie. Play for me and Teresa Ann and your mom. Don’t worry about any one else.”
“Maybe Kirk?” he said. “And my dad?”
“Okay, play for them, too. If you start to think of anything else, turn and look at me and only me, got that?”
He nodded solemnly.
“Make me proud,” she said, hugging him and then standing. She leaned over and picked her violin case from the grass where she’d dropped it when talking to Sam. Good thing her mother wasn’t here to see that. She’d have had a hissy fit.
“Okay everyone, we’re about to start. Break a leg,” Gina called, shepherding the first group to the edge of the stage.
Sam looked at Angelica.
“Why did she say that?”
“Theater superstition. Do not break anything.”
As the afternoon progressed, group after group stepped up, followed each time by a solo act.
When it was Sam’s turn, Angelica went right to the edge of the stage with him.
She could see the crowd now, the amphitheater as full as it had been during the fair.
Sam walked on, listened until the introduction was finished and then looked at Angelica.
He raised the fiddle and began. He played beautifully.
Tears filled her eyes at the performance. She thought her heart would burst with pride. His gaze never left hers. When he was done, he gave a short bow and scurried off the stage.
“Sweetie, go back, they’re clapping for you,” she said, turning him around and pushing him back.
His eyes widened in wonder and then he beamed his smile to the audience. The clapping went on for several minutes. He bowed again and then came off stage, grinning from ear to ear.
“I did it!”
“You did great!” She hugged him and then hurried him away as the next group was introduced.
Twenty minutes later Angelica took a breath and stepped out on the stage in Bryceville, Kentucky. There was no darkened theater, but a wide open amphitheater filled to the brim with people who had come to enjoy good music.
She hardly heard the introduction as she sought Kirk and Webb Francis. They were right on the front row, both grinning at her.
She glanced around at the audience. Normally she never saw anyone at the symphonies. Now she could see every person there—even Paul and Melvin. So they did leave the store rocking chairs sometimes.
Glancing to her right, she saw Sam standing by the stage, to give her support, he’d said. If she got scared, she was to look at him. She gave a wink and placed the violin in the familiar spot, rested her bow on it for a second. And began.
Tchaikovsky’s solo first movement was one she loved.
She played it with as much feeling as she could, to honor all the people who had come so far to hear good music.
It was totally different from the others on the program, and she tried to see how well it was going over as she played.
But, oddly enough after all these years, she felt nervous.
Seeking Kirk again, she focused on him. The rest of the crowd seem to fade as he smiled slowly. She hoped he heard every note.
When she finished the applause was tremendous. People even stood, clapped and yelled Kirk and Webb Francis among them.
She felt almost giddy with delight that everyone liked the music.
The applause went on for several minutes, finally dying down. She smiled again, nodding to Kirk, and began the song she’d practiced on this summer, Orange Blossom Special. She played it looking directly at Kirk, hoping he could hear her, hoping he liked the song as much as he said he did.
The crowd went wild, clapping and yelling.
Obviously a favorite with more than one.
Momentarily she glanced around and then grinned, playing for all she was worth.
The long notes of the plaintive whistle, then the faster notes as if a train was roaring down the tracks.
Clapping went on and faster, so she sped up.
The crowd loved it. Finally the song ended, but not the ovation.
People called to do it again. Gina nodded from the sidelines, so Angelica played it through a second time, then bowed and left.
“They’re still clapping and calling,” Sam said. “You should go back out there.”
She stepped back in sight and waved her violin and bowed again, then left.
“Excellent,” Hiram said, coming up to them.
“I wondered where you were,” she said, giving him a quick hug in her exuberance.
“I sat out front, no sense missing all the others by standing around back here.”
“You ready?” she asked.
“As I’ll ever be. You, Mr. Sam, did a fine job,” he said to the boy.
Sam smiled.
“I’m going to play next year, too.”
It seemed like only moments later Hiram and Angelica stepped out on the stage. She stood a little behind him and to his right, giving him center stage. He motioned her closer, but she smiled and shook her head, bow poised.
“Ready?” she asked.
He nodded, turned to face the audience.
She bet the old ballad never sounded so good as his strong voice sang of love lost. She watched Kirk as he listened to his grandfather, then he looked at her. For a long moment as the words filled the air, her heart sped up wanting to fly right to his.
Sudden tears filled her eyes as she related to the sad lyrics. She looked away afraid she’d mess up the accompaniment. The crowd was quiet as Hiram sang, but burst into applause and cheers when he finished.
Gina gave him a hug when he came off stage.
“You two are great. Plan on next year,” she said.
Angelica was startled. She never thought about coming back.
Hiram nodded, then looked around for Kirk. He came from the audience a moment later.
“You did amazing,” he said to his grandfather, giving him a hug.
The old man protested, but the hint of color rising in his face showed his pleasure.
“And you played like an angel,” Kirk said to her. “You have an amazing talent. The world will be blessed by your music for many years to come.”
She blinked. She hadn’t expected that.
“We ready to leave?” Hiram asked.
“Sure.” Kirk answered, but his eyes never left hers. “You’re still leaving in the morning?”
She nodded.
“Taking the bus.”
He hesitated a long moment, glanced around at all the people.
Ask me to stay. Tell me you’ll come visit me. Write to me. She wished so hard she wondered if telepathy wouldn’t covey her yearning to everyone.
“Have a good trip home,” he said.
She nodded and smiled, but her heart ached and tears clogged her throat. But she kept her chin up.
“Thanks for all you’ve done. Send me a picture of the finished sculpture.”
You are the most amazing man, she wanted to say. I wished you loved me.
He nodded.
“Let’s go. Them hogs will be hungry,” Hiram said.
He looked at Angelica.
“You come back, hear? I might find another song we can do next year.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, without making any commitment. Tears filled her eyes despite her effort at keeping them at bay.
“Bye, girl,” the old man said, pulling her into a hug. “Don’t forget us.”
She rode home with the Tanners and endured their profuse thanks for helping their son. She bid them goodbye with real regret, hugging Sam extra hard. An entire new world had opened teaching him. Something else to think about in the future.
She took Webb Francis’s violin back into the cottage. She had so little to pack, she could do it in the morning. She was taking the bus to Louisville to catch the plane from there. Not much left to do here. The cottage was tidy. She’d change sheets before she left in the morning.
Taking a glass of iced tea to the porch, she sat in the growing twilight thinking about the festival, the friends she’d made in Smoky Hollow.
She was even getting used to the humid heat.
It was peaceful, serene. So unlike New York City.
A place she truly hoped she never forgot.
Nor the people. Nor the gentle way of life.
After she was ready for bed she went to the window of her room and stared across the dark to Kirk’s house.
The light was on in the studio. She wished she could have seen the finished sculpture.
She considered going over there now, but it was late and they’d said goodbye earlier, before he took his grandfather home.
Turning, she climbed into bed, wondering what she’d really learned about her life these few weeks.
She could stand up to her parents. She could choose the concerts and symphonies she wanted and let the others go. She could explore other types of music and leave New York and function just fine.
She might even have a choice in the future between performing and teaching—or maybe both.