It Must Have Been the Mistletoe(13)

Sex never quite lived up to her expectations. She had always hoped for an experience so intense that it would transcend the simple mechanics between men and women. And she’d never found that, never. Maybe there’d been too many other expectations attached. Maybe if she just focused on this one night and not on the future, she could let herself go.

“What exactly is a musicologist?” Drew asked as he crumbled saltines into his third bowl of soup.

“It’s the historical and scientific study of music. I specialize in Appalachian music, or what’s usually called traditional American music.”

“And what do you do with the songs you find?”

“I write about them, I sometimes publish them. And I sing a lot of the songs in recitals and concerts.”

“Are you going to sing Ettie’s?”

Alison nodded. “I’m interviewing for a job in Texas. It’s a really huge opportunity, but they want someone who can bring the program publicity. It’s not enough to just write articles for professional journals anymore. You have to record albums and publish songbooks and perform around the country. And one of the guys I’m up against does all of that.”

“So that’s why you’re interested in Ettie’s songs?” he asked. “So you can use them to get this job?”

“Yes,” she said. “No, not just that.”

He shook his head. “Nobody comes all the way up on this mountain unless they want something. And they usually want it for nothing.”

“That’s not it at all,” Alison said. “If I don’t record or publish those songs, they’ll be lost forever. Is that what you want? Ettie’s name will always be on those songs. A hundred years from now, people will be singing them and saying her name when they do.”

“And what if she wants them to stay all hers? What if she doesn’t want them to be published?”

“Then that would be her choice. Not yours.”

“I’ll go get your bath ready,” he said. “The water should be hot.”

Alison frowned. Maybe she had sounded a little mercenary, but there was a lot riding on these songs. Her whole professional life. She understood his need to protect Ettie’s interests, but this wasn’t a brooch or a silver ring she was talking about. These were important songs.

She got up and fetched her dulcimer, then opened the case on the table in front of her. She worked out the chords for one of Ettie’s songs while she waited. When Alison looked up, she found Drew watching her.

“Sing something for me.”

“This is called ‘Down In Yon Forest.’ It’s an old English carol from the Renaissance that was passed from generation to generation. It was brought to these mountains by British settlers. People like your ancestors. They might have sung this carol in this cabin. And shared it with their neighbors.” She drew a deep breath and began to pluck an introduction on her dulcimer.

“Down in yon forest there stands a hall,

The bells of Paradise I heard them ring

It’s covered all over with purple and pall

And I love my Lord Jesus above anything.”



Alison sang the song from beginning to end, all six verses. When she was finished, she drew a final breath and shrugged. “If someone had decided to keep that song to themselves, I could have never sung it for you. Songs are only good if they’re passed along.”

A slow smile curved his lips. “That was beautiful. You have an incredible voice.”

“Not that incredible,” she said. “I wasn’t really warmed up. And I messed up a little on the third verse.” She smoothed her fingers over the dulcimer strings. “I used to dream that my sisters and I would perform together. Layla is a really good mandolin player, but she has horrible stage fright. And Rita hates music, so that was a problem.”

“Why didn’t you just do it on your own? You’re talented enough.”

“I’ll have to if I get that job in Texas.”

“You said your parents sing?”

“Not anymore. I mean, they sing, but just for fun now. My father teaches music in the school system in Ponder Hill, and my mom teaches piano and voice lessons privately. They’re settled and happy. I don’t think they have any interest in going out on the road again.”

He stood, bending close to brush a kiss across her lips. “Sing me another while I finish making up your bath.”

Alison sang another favorite, “The Holy Well.” By the time she finished a couple more songs, Drew had poured the two huge pots of water into the copper bathtub and cooled them down with another pot of rainwater from the barrel outside.