Angel of Smoky Hollow by Barbara McMahon Page A

looking at the little boy. He was so small she wondered how he’d hold a violin. Then she thought about when she’d been his age—maybe even younger. She had been so thrilled to learn to play—back in the day when all things were fantastic and the reality of constant practice had not dimmed her enthusiasm. She had been able to make music. The echo of that thrill seemed dim in all that had transpired over the decades since.
    â€œSam 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.
    â€œHi,” the boy said with a hopeful gleam in his eyes. “Can you teach me?”
    â€œMake me out to be the bad guy if I say no,” she muttered.
    â€œSay again?” Kirk said standing and watching her with amusement in his gaze. He knew what he’d done. How could she disappoint a child?
    â€œNever mind. I guess we could give it a try.” She didn’tsound very enthusiastic, because she had no clue what to do or where to begin.
    â€œThanks, lady. I have to use Webb Francis’s fiddle, I don’t have one of my own. But he lets me.”
    â€œMaybe Angelica could let you try hers,” Kirk said.
    â€œNo way. That instrument is worth thousands. If Webb Francis said the boy could use one of his, then he needs to use that one.”
    â€œHis name is Sam.”
    â€œSam,” Angelica repeated offering a smile to the child. She was so not used to being around children. Her life had been devoted to the violin since she was six.
    â€œCome on inside, then, and we’ll see. You coming?” she asked Kirk when Sam began walking to the front door.
    â€œNaw, 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.
    â€œIf 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.
    â€œShow 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.
    â€œWhat was that song?” she asked, sitting in a nearby chair.
    â€œâ€˜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.”
    â€œDo 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.
    â€œYes, I think you’ll do great at the music festival.” She studied the little boy for a moment, then jumped up. “I’ll get my violin and we’ll have a session together, how’s that?”
    â€œViolin?” he asked.
    â€œMy fiddle,” she said, giving