“I’m getting used to calling it that. Everyone looks a bit blank when I call it a violin. I’m able to pick up a lot of the songs merely by listening. And Webb Francis has a ton of sheet music.”
“You have a rare gift of hearing and playing without music. So are you glad you went?”
“Oh, I love it here. We listened to different musical groups at the fair. There’ll be even more at the music festival, I understand. That’s at the end of August. It’s amazing to watch the people really get into the music, clapping, sometimes singing along. I wouldn’t have missed this opportunity for anything. Thank you for your recommendation.”
“I’m pleased it’s turning out well. Actually, I called because your parents called me two days ago wanting to know if I had the phone number of the place you were staying, as your cell wasn’t working. I said there was no cell service I knew of in Smoky Hollow. From the questions that followed, I realized you hadn’t told them where you were going. I hope I didn’t mess things up telling them where you were.”
“Oops. Sorry, Professor Simmons. This vacation was supposed to be a break from everything, not just the symphony.”
“You might give them a call. They sounded worried.”
“Thanks for letting me know. I didn’t mean to put you in the middle of anything.”
“Sometimes families exert pressures that are not fully realized at the time. I know they were strongly supportive of your music when you were a student here.”
“Maybe too much. I’m grown up now. I can make my own decisions. Did you ever consider delving more into folk music?”
“I have on occasion. Teaching that course gives me an outlet that combines my love for it with other duties at the school. I have spent several summers in Smoky Hollow with Webb Francis. He has a rare talent himself. And knows more about that kind of music than anyone. You’ll have a good teacher, once he’s well again.”
“Did you ever go to the music festival the end of August?”
“Of course. You’ll not want to miss that. There will be jug bands, dulcimers and real old-fashioned mountain folk music. Great songs handed down from the first settlers. Call me whenyou return to New York. You can tell me all about your experiences in Kentucky.”
“I’ll do that. Thanks for everything, Professor.”
She hung up feeling guilty that she had put him in an awkward position. But she’d never expected her parents to call him to find out where she was. Had they called everyone she knew until they reached him? Couldn’t they give her a few weeks on her own?
Reluctantly, she picked up the phone and dialed home. The phone rang until the answering machine picked up.
“Hi Mom, it’s Angelica. I, um, was just calling to say hi. I’ll call back.”
She reluctantly gave them the phone number. She didn’t want them calling her every day trying to talk her into returning to New York. But she could understand they wanted to be in touch. Sorry to say, she hadn’t missed their presence in her life at all since she’d been in Smoky Hollow. She had a freedom she’d never known before and she relished every moment.
Still, this was the longest she’d been out of touch with her parents. Gazing out the window she wondered why it had taken her so long to break free. She didn’t need nor want her parents dictating her every move. She was totally capable. From now on, she’d dictate her own destiny.
Angelica knew they only wanted what was best for her. Older when she’d been born, they had given up on having any children. So it was a double whammy—doting older parents and gifted child.
Restless, she changed her mind about going up to bed and went to practice the song she was planning to play in the festival. It was complex enough to keep her fully engaged while playing, forcing out all worries and thoughts of the future. There was only the bow, the strings and the fast pace to the music.
After an hour, she put down the violin. She was getting better all the time, but would anyone really care?
She walked over to the window to look at Kirk’s house, remembering his kiss at the end of their date. She’d had such fun that day. The Ferris wheel had given them an aerial view of the fairgrounds. The different music had enforced her decision to get more variety into her musical repertoire. And she couldn’t wait to have cotton candy again.
Yet who knew the touch of two lips could set off a firestorm? And she hadn’t a clue what to do about it. On the one hand, she wanted more. To see if every time he kissed her she about melted in desire. Or would she grow used to them? Would they lose their magical touch?
No lights showed at his house. He must have gone to bed. Which she should do. Then she saw the lights on in the building behind his house. Giving in to impulse, she went to see what he was doing.
The door to the building stood open, spilling light in a wide path. Angelica stopped in the opening and stared at the workshop. It was definitely not a garage. There were wooden statues and figurines against one wall. Piled up in front of another wall were chunks of wood in various sizes. In the center Kirk was chiseling from a huge block of raw wood. She glanced at what he was doing but her attention was immediately drawn to the glowing statue of a mother and children toward the back. Slowly she walked in and over to the wooden piece.
“This is amazing,” she said reaching out to gently touched the wood.
He swung around.
“What are you doing here?”
“This is your whittling? What an understatement. It’s amazing.” She marveled at the satin finish so smooth beneath her fingertips.
She knew he watched her. When she looked up, she met his gaze.
