“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.
