The Bride of Willow Creek(94)

Angie carried a plate of food toward a group of women talking about setting up a quilting bee. She listened for a while before joining a group who discussed the new school and where the new teacher might live. Then Mrs. Dryfus spotted her and asked if she had made a decision about singing in the choir.

An hour later, Angie slipped her plate into the dirty dishes tub, then wandered to a spot near the bandstand where she could see down the length of Carr Street. It surprised her that she knew everyone and knew them well, in fact. She had seen their laundry flapping on the line, had smelled their suppers. She had overheard a few arguments, had observed some hasty kisses. She knew who yelled at their children and who didn’t. Who kept an immaculate house and who could tolerate a bit of dust and clutter. Sometimes she felt as if she had known these folks all of her life.

Molly had said, Your girls.

Her gaze swung toward the group of children following Andrew Morgan as he lit the torches up and down the street.

Your girls.

The simple words and not-so-simple emotions tightened Angie’s throat and chest. What should have been a happy and relaxed, if bittersweet evening was turning into something else for her.

It was a relief to hear a burst of music from the bandstand. When she turned, she saw Sam standing under a line of swinging lanterns, sawing a bow across his fiddle strings. His tie and jacket had vanished, and he’d rolled up his sleeves. He stepped to the edge of the platform, winked at her, then bowed slightly and played a jig that she knew was just for her.

Amazed and delighted, Angie clapped her hands as others drifted toward the bandstand. Sam had told her he could play a fiddle, but she’d had no idea he meant he could play like this.

Molly appeared beside her. “Lordy, that man can make a fiddle sing, can’t he?” She grabbed Angie and they dipped and skipped and twirled and danced in front of the bandstand until they were breathless and holding their sides. Then Reverend Dryfus and his missus spun past doing a polka step, while the audience clapped and toetapped and shouted encouragement.

On stage, Dick Juniper swung his fiddle under his chin and faced off with Sam, both of them playing furiously. At the end of the tune, both fiddlers lowered their instruments and grinned at each other, then bowed to the crowd who applauded wildly.

Before the evening ended, the composition had changed half a dozen times on the bandstand. Sometimes there was an accordion or a mouth harp or a banjo, sometimes only fiddles. The only time the music stopped was for a speech singing the praises of Cannady and Molly Johnson and wishing them well in their new wealthy life. Then Cannady stepped up on the bandstand and said how he and Molly would miss everyone and that everyone was invited to a party at their mansion in Denver as soon as it was built.

Along about midnight the torches began to sputter. All the desserts were gone, along with the beer and lemonade. People sought out Can and Molly for a few words, then drifted toward their homes, carrying empty potluck dishes and small sleeping children draped over shoulders.

Angie smothered a yawn and smiled at Lucy and Daisy, who could hardly keep their eyes open.

“Papa, can we dance tomorrow?” Daisy murmured, leaning against Sam’s leg.

“If that isn’t just like a pretty girl. Making a man wait.”

“Let’s tell Can and Molly that we’ll talk to them in the morning. It’s late,” Angie suggested.

But Molly wouldn’t hear of it. “You’ll be busy cleaning up from the party tomorrow, and then Can and I are going to start packing. We aren’t taking much with us, just some dishes, clothing, personal items.” The diamond brooch swung from the homemade crown as she looked back and forth between Angie and Sam. “Please?”

They glanced at each other, then Angie nodded. “Let us get the girls to bed, then we’ll run over for a few minutes.”

“Good. I’ll boil up some coffee.”



By the time they went next door, the street was dark and only a few lights still glowed in the houses along Carr Street.

Sam yawned, then dropped an arm over Angie’s shoulders. “Just one cup of coffee then we’ll go, all right? Dawn is going to come awful early. Besides, I’ve said my good-byes to Can, and I imagine you’ve said your good-byes to Molly.”

Angie and Molly had exchanged small mementos to remember each other by, had wept and promised to stay in touch. Denver wasn’t too far to visit. And because of Can’s continuing interest at the mine, he and Molly would return to Willow Creek from time to time. But Molly’s departure would leave a hole in Angie’s mornings. Until very recently she hadn’t realized how often she ran next door for a cup of coffee or a word of advice.