Angel of Smoky Hollow

by Barbara McMahon

  CHAPTER NINE

  KIRK SAT BACK as far as the bench seat allowed once he’d ordered, watching Angelica study the menu. He knew she wasn’t seeing the words as her eyes never moved. She was lost in thought. He waited another minute.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  She looked up and nodded. Laying the menu down, she sighed softly. “It always gets complicated when dealing with my parents.”

  “You don’t have to deal with them here. They are a thousand miles away.” She shrugged.

  “Look at it as you’ve made a commitment and you need to follow through. Aren’t they big on complying with commitments?”

  “Of course, but usually the commitments are ones they’ve chosen.”

  “I don’t think Sam Tanner and Teresa Ann Williams care who chose the commitment, they’re counting on you to help them. Sam plans to play in the festival for the first time. He’s eight. Not a bad thing for a kid that young. Would you end that dream?”

  “If Webb Francis recovers soon enough, he can handle things.”

  “He won’t be back in time. Plus, I’m looking forward to hearing you play ‘Orange Blossom Special’.”

  She smiled. “You might not be so glad once you’ve heard me. It’s tricky.”

  “Most of us in Smoky Hollow will never to get to New York to hear the philharmonic. You wouldn’t deny us the chance to hear you this summer, would you? It’s not as if you’re planning to stay here the rest of your life.”

  He knew he kept repeating that as if it were a mantra. Maybe he’d believe it one day. Even if she did stay, which she wouldn’t, he had nothing to offer. The residents of Smoky Hollow chose their lifestyle for the most part, didn’t get into it by default. Webb Francis had done his stint in New York and San Francisco, and except for himself, was probably the most traveled of anyone in town. But they weren’t the only ones who had traveled and seen the world.

  When the food came, Angelica relaxed a little commenting on how delicious the pot roast she’d ordered tasted. Gradually he could feel the tension slip away. Not wanting to risk a return, Kirk tried to keep the conversation into noncontroversial topics.

  “I appreciate your asking me to dinner,” she said when they both finished. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

  “About?”

  She studied him a moment then said, “My agent has a fantastic opportunity to do a tour in Europe in the fall. Six months ago I would have jumped at the chance with no hesitation. Now—I don’t know.”

  He dropped his gaze to the last of the iced tea in his glass. Another reason she would never fit into his niche. She was a world-class concert violinist, with the opportunity to tour Europe. He looked out the window at the empty street, the trees that crowded nearby. Nothing like the capitals of Europe. Nothing he had or could offer would ever compete.

  “What are you going to do?” he asked.

  “I have no idea. But I have to decide soon. Another layer of pressure. I wanted to come here this summer to gain some perspective. I’m flat burned out with everything. I know my parents love me and want the best for me. But it’s as if they push, push, push all the time!”

  “It sounds like what they want is for you to follow the path they’ve laid down. Adult children can’t always do that and be true to themselves and what they want. My granddad wanted my father to be a farmer. He tried, hated it and went to work in the mines which he liked, odd as it seems. He’d probably be alive today if he’d become a farmer. Then Granddad wanted me to be a farmer, but that’s not the life I want. I don’t mind helping him out from time to time, but that’s not something I’m going to do. Hard for him to accept, but he has. If I ever get married and have children, I will not expect them to go into construction or become a sculptor. Each person has to choose his or her own paths in life. Your decision this summer is, which path are you going to choose?”

  For a moment he thought she might say she would choose to remain in Smoky Hollow. She looked out the window at the town and a small smile tugged at her lips. Small and rural, Smoky Hollow had all he wanted. But how could it compete with New York City, or London or Paris?

  “I’ll have to decide, won’t I? No more coasting along.”

  He wished he could magically find something to say that would have her embracing Smoky Hollow. Have her at least think about staying. Think about him.

  Angelica was a long time falling asleep that night. She wandered in the music room and played a few songs, but was too restless to continue. Looking out the window, she saw the light on in Kirk’s studio and wished she dared go over and watch him work. But her heart couldn’t bear another directive like the other night to go home.

  The problem was she wasn’t sure exactly where home was. Was it her apartment in New York? The old brownstone home she’d grown up in in Boston? Or was it someplace she hadn’t found yet, where she would feel a connection, a rightness that settled all questions.

  She liked Smoky Hollow, but how could she make a living here? She was a concert violinist, not a teacher. She’d trained for years, but the thought of more concerts, more practice, more of the same made her tired.

  Yet the idea of achieving a tour of Europe in the fall brought a heady rush. It would be quite an achievement at her age. Hadn’t she been working toward something like that her entire life? Could she turn her back on that?

  Kirk was right. She stood on a precipice, her entire future ahead of her. But for a moment, she did not want to return to the forest of the familiar. She wanted to be brave enough to step out in a new direction and risk falling flat on her face.

  Where was her place?

  The next morning Angelica awoke with a vague feeling of dread. Realizing it was apprehension at time running out on her decision for the future, she slowly rose and tried to think of ways to make the right choice. There were so many variables.

  First her parents. She’d done her best to please them all her life. Kirk was right, it was time she made her own decisions. Yet she didn’t want to hurt them.

  Then her agent. He’d taken her on right out of the conservatory, green and new. Worked with her to build a career that others envied. One from which she fled this summer as the pressure built.

  She was still dithering about her choice when the phone rang shortly before ten. She hesitated long and hard before answering. She was not ready to give her decision.

  “Angelica.” Her father was calling.

  “Hi, Dad.” Had her mother prevailed upon him to call?

  “Your mother told me of your conversation. Honey, we want what’s best for you. But it’s time you decide that for yourself. Only you will know what’s best for you.”

  She was dumbfounded. They were leaving the decision to her? Just like that? No pressure? No arguments on what they knew was best for her? She didn’t know what to say.

  “Tell me about the place you’re staying this summer,” he said.

  Slowly she began to tell him about meeting the warm and friendly residents of this small town. Of the two children she was fast coming to adore. Of Hiram Devon and his amazing voice. Of Kirk she said little. She dare not chance revealing how much she was coming to rely on him to be there for her.

  “Sounds like you are having the time of your life,” her father said some time later.

  “I guess I am,” she said slowly, realization dawning. She was having a wonderful summer. Glancing out the window she smiled at the trees that shaded the back yard.

  “You’ll make the right decision. Let us know.”

  She felt like a prisoner released from jail. What had prompted the call? She did not want to question her good fortune at not having to convince them she needed to stay, but she didn’t understand this abrupt about-face at all.

  “It was good to talk to you, Dad,” she said.

  “I enjoyed hearing everything. Do well at your music festival.”

  She hung up. What had happened? Did her mother know her father had called her? She sat down at the kitchen table a
nd considered the odd conversation. Her mother had been the driving force behind her rise to prominence in the music world, she realized. Her father had always supported her, but never pushed as hard as her mother. Had her father heard something in her determination, in the change in her, when she talked to her mother? It was as if he was giving Angelica permission to be free.

  When the phone rang again, she was sure it was her mother, about to give her a different directive. Or her agent, demanding an answer.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Angelica, it’s Gina. There’s a practice called for this afternoon in the school multi-use room at two. Can you join us? It’ll give you a chance to see the various groups who will be in the festival and meet everyone. Sorry for the late notice, but the gal arranging it all didn’t have you on her list.”

  “Yes, at two. Where is the school?”

  Gina rattled off directions and then said how pleased she was that Angelica would be there.

  Angelica wondered if Sam knew about the rehearsal. It would be too heartbreaking for him to be practicing so long and not be included. But he was going to the fair today. Still, she wanted him to know about the rehearsal. She knew his last name was Tanner, but looking in the thin phone book that served for Bryceville, Smoky Hollow and three other communities, she saw a dozen Tanners.

  She’d have to ask Kirk.

  Walking over to his house, Angelica went to the back door and knocked. After a few minutes, she wondered if he could hear someone knocking. She opened the door and peeped in. The kitchen was immaculate. She heard no sounds in the house.

  She turned and walked to the studio. The door was closed. When she opened it, the studio was in darkness. No Kirk.

  So much for finding out who Sam’s father was.

  As she started walking back to her house, she heard his motorcycle. She changed directions and went to the back door. A moment later Kirk pulled up. He took off his helmet and looked at her. “Need something?”

  “Sam Tanner’s phone number. There’s a rehearsal today and I don’t want him to miss it.”

  “Sure, Sam’s a third, I think. Anyway, his dad is Sam, too. I’ve got his number, come on in.” He got off the motorcycle and hung the helmet from the handlebars.

  “You were out early,” she commented.

  “Went to see Granddad,” he said as he went to hold the back door open for her.

  “How is he?”

  “Doing well. And talking about that song you two are doing.” He pulled open a drawer and rummaged around the papers, pulling out a list of names and numbers.

  “Here, Sam senior’s the fourth one down.”

  “What is this list?” she asked, taking the page and scanning all the names.

  “Different skills guys have in construction so I know who to call when we have a barn raising like we did for Ben and Carrie. Or some other project. Sam’s specialty is electrical. You can use my phone.” He pointed to the phone on the wall.

  Once she’d spoken to Sam’s mother and told her about the rehearsal she hung up and turned to Kirk.

  “My dad called this morning. He practically told me to disregard anything they’ve said in the past and go for what I want. I couldn’t believe it.”

  He leaned against the kitchen counter and crossed his arms over his chest, tilting his head a little to study her. “Why? He’s an adult, and seems to realize you are one as well.”

  “He asked about my visit.”

  “And?”

  “So I told him and he said I sounded happy. He’s right. I’m happy here.”

  “You sound almost surprised.”

  “I guess I am.”

  “Need a ride to the rehearsal?” he asked.

  She considered the offer. One time he tells her to go home, then he takes her to dinner. Now he’s offering to take her to the rehearsal. She was confused by the way he acted. She was not confused about wanting to spend as much time with him as she could.

  “I’d like that.”

  “When is it?”

  “At two at the high school.”

  “I’ll pick you up about ten minutes before that. It’s a short drive.”

  “It’s a short drive anywhere in Smoky Hollow. I could probably walk.”

  “No need to carry your fiddle all that way.”

  She should leave. She had nothing else to say, but didn’t want to walk away. Finally as the silence stretched out, she smiled and turned to leave.

  Kirk watched her go. Once the screen door banged shut behind her he let out his breath. Ever since Angelica Cannon had shown up in Smoky Hollow, his life had been topsy-turvy and didn’t seem about to settle down.

  Once the festival was over, she would be back where she belonged—within the month.

  Every time he repeated it, he tried to convince himself that maybe she’d stay. Yet what did he have to offer? His own mother hadn’t stayed. Neither he nor his father had meant enough to her.

  Much as he wished Angelica would stay, it would be a waste of her talent, and the prospects for the future. He was not one to stand in her way.

  Deliberately refusing to look out the window to watch her walk across the lawn, he turned instead to head to the studio. He had several hours before he saw her again. Time enough to shore up defenses.

  There were more people than Angelica expected when she reached the yard where the rehearsal would be held. Her violin was in her case. She had the one Sam was using in another case, and sheet music for both of them in her tote.

  Gina spotted her as soon as Kirk’s truck pulled in and hurried over.

  “You staying?” she asked Kirk.

  “No. How long?”

  “Two-three hours. We’ll call you.” With that her attention shifted to Angelica. “Glad you could make it. Come and meet the others.”

  By the time a modicum of order was established, Angelica had met at least two dozen people. Some names she knew, some she’d never remember. Gina had all the groups lined up together, pointing to spots on the ground where she’d put papers with giant numbers. For the single players, she had them gather in one group. Just as Angelica looked for Sam, a pickup arrived and the little boy jumped out and ran to her.

  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.