“I’ll get in the truck, then.”
And she almost ran around to the passenger door.
Kirk watched her, then with a wave and a shout goodbye, he climbed into the truck. The ride home was in silence.
Angelica clasped her hands tightly, as if holding on to her roiling emotions. She needed to get a grip. She was here to temporarily escape a life becoming too stressful and frenetic. She’d be leaving at the end of summer.
After talking with Gina, she was determined to stay for the music festival. It sounded like an event not to be missed to hear more of the folk music of Appalachia.
“How is Sam doing?” Kirk asked when he almost reached her driveway.
“He’s doing very well. I think he’ll be ready for the festival. And Teresa Ann loves playing. Even chords. I can see the delight shining in her eyes.”
“I know they appreciate your helping out.”
“Does Webb Francis give lessons?” she asked.
“When kids ask. He mostly plays for himself these days. He taught at the university for a while. But he’s retired now.”
He pulled into her driveway and stopped and looked at her.
“Are you going to play in the festival?” he asked.
“I think I might. I’ve been thinking about it since talking with Gina. I want to try some of the mountain music. Any favorites?”
He studied her for a moment.
“Orange Blossom Special, but it’s a hard one. Do you think you can play it the way it should be played?”
Was he throwing that out as a challenge? She’d heard the song before, she knew how complex it was, and how fast it was played. Could she do it?
“Maybe I’ll work on that for you,” she said, opening the door. “Thanks for taking me today. I enjoyed meeting everyone and talking with Gina. Next time, I can bring some food. I do know how to cook.”
“Good to know.”
She walked into the house hearing the truck pull out. Pausing at the door, she watched as it turned into his place and was lost from sight when it went to the far side of his cabin.
Scanning the sky she wished for another storm. But the sky was a cloudless blue. No excuse to go to her neighbor’s for dinner today.
Kirk quickly showered and made a hasty dinner. After eating, he headed for his studio. He was tired after the day’s work, but still anxious to get going on the new carving he’d thought aboutall day. He had just the block of wood for it, a huge center of an oak that had to be almost four feet across. He’d had it a few years, not knowing what he wanted to do with it. Now he did.
It took block and tackle to get it moved over to the center of the room. Too tall to put on the table; he’d have to work on it on the floor. Studying it from all angles, he then sketched out the outline of the image he had in mind. Then penciled the overall shape on the side to know where to start carving. In only moments, he was completely caught up in the wood, the tools and the vision.
It was late when he straightened and realized how tired he was. He’d made a start, however. It wasn’t easy using oak, much harder wood than others he used. But the lines in this were perfect. The shape of trees and a figure on the edge of a cliff were roughed in. It would take weeks to get it the way he saw it in his mind. Enough for tonight. He needed to get some sleep.
Crossing the distance to his house, he glanced at the house next door. Would he finish it before Angelica left? If he worked at it full time he could. Did he want her to see it? It was the most personal thing he’d ever carved.
And he wasn’t sure he could capture the expression on the face—awestruck, delight, freedom. Maybe that’s what he’d call it—freedom.
The next morning the phone rang while Kirk was still eating breakfast.
“Hi Kirk, it’s Webb Francis,” the voice on the other end said.
“How’s it going? You coming home today?”
He waited a moment while the older man coughed.
“Not coming home for a while. My sister heard I was sick and is planning for me to stay with her in Louisville until I’m fit again. I may get discharged from the hospital later this week. Here’s hoping. How’re things there?”
