“I want to start with ‘Barbara Allen,’” Alison said. “And then, ‘The Cherry Tree.’ And ‘Gypsy Laddie.’ And the new one is called ‘Molly Ban.’ It’s so sad and pretty. It’s about a boy who shoots his girlfriend because he mistakes her for a swan.”
“Jeez,” Rita grumbled. “What? Are you working up an act?”
“What if I am?” Alison glanced over at Layla. “It’s not so impossible. Kid acts are really big and there are plenty of families who sing together.”
“Yeah, when they’re old,” Layla countered.
“It’s already been done,” Rita said, her nose still stuck in the pages of her magazine. “They called it the Partridge Family.”
“Who?” Layla and Alison asked in tandem.
Rita glanced up and sighed dramatically. “Some really old group from the seventies. The Partridge Family? They had a show on television.”
“Mom doesn’t let us watch television. When did you see it?”
“Those kids I met at the folk festival last fall,” Rita explained. “They had a television in their bus and they had lots of tapes.” She set her magazine down. “The show’s about this family who rides around on a bus and plays music together. But they play rock music. And they have a regular house, too. And there’s no father. And there are five of them and only three of us. Two, if you don’t count me. And one if you don’t count Layla.”
“Next time you find someone with a television, you have to invite me along,” Layla said. “When I get older, I’m going to have a television in every room of my house. And I’m going to eat as much candy as I want. And regular bread, not that whole wheat stuff that Mom makes us eat.”
“So, what do you think?” Alison asked.
“About what?” Layla looked puzzled.
“A group. The three of us, together onstage. We could do it. We’d need to work on our harmonies, and Rita would have to learn to play an instrument, but if we perform together, we could make a little money.”
Rita frowned. “Except that I can’t sing or play or do anything that anyone wants to pay to watch. And Layla won’t do it.”
“Why not?” Alison turned to her middle sister. “You’re the best musician of us all.”
“She’s scared,” Rita said.
“I’m not,” Layla countered.
“You are so. That time Mom and Dad brought us onstage last year at the Christmas show, you almost peed your pants you were so scared. And we were just singing ‘Silent Night’ along with them. You forgot the words and your face turned all red and then you had a stomachache for two days.”
Alison looked at the stricken expression on Layla’s face. “It’s all right,” she murmured, her dreams suddenly fading. “We can work on that. You’ll get more comfortable the more you perform.”
Layla shook her head. “No, I won’t.” She grabbed her mandolin and headed for the rear of the bus, then plopped down on the bunk bed she called her own.
Rita shrugged and went back to her magazine. “I guess you’re just going to have to make a solo act,” she said, a satisfied smirk curling the corners of her mouth.
Alison reached around her sister and picked up her dulcimer. “Well, Merry Christmas to you, too.” She stomped up to the driver’s seat and plopped down. “I hate this bus. I can never get far enough away from you two.”
Someday, she’d have everything she dreamed about. Someday, she’d own a place—and it wouldn’t have wheels! And she’d be the one making decisions about where she’d go and what she’d do. And when she performed, people would listen to her and smile and clap for hours on end. And when she traveled, she’d sleep in a proper hotel with a bed and a real bathroom. And when Christmas came around, she’d have a real tree, not some silly plastic thing they found at a flea market.
“Someday,” Alison murmured. “Someday, everything will be different.”
1
ALISON COLE PEERED OUT the rain-streaked window of her Subaru station wagon at the fork in the road. A quick glance at her GPS was no help at all. She’d been off the government maps for the past fifteen minutes.
She grabbed her cell phone from the seat beside her, determined to call Stephen, the graduate assistant who’d given her directions. But the moment she turned it on, she realized there wouldn’t be service this far into the mountains. She punched in his number and waited, hoping that she was wrong. But when the call didn’t go through, Alison tossed the phone back onto the seat.