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.
