A Wedding on Lilac Lane Hope Ramsay (general ebook reader TXT) 📖

Irish fiddlers like the incomparable Mairéad Ní Mhaonaigh.

The first time Cody ever heard her play, he’d told her she’d one day make it to the Grand Ole Opry. It hadn’t been a promise, of course, although she’d taken it that way. She’d been so young and foolish.

Cody’s praise was all it had taken to get her to run away from home. But that had changed last December when she’d started running toward home. Wherever that might be. Could she be a musician and support herself in Magnolia Harbor? She didn’t know.

But maybe she needed to figure it out.

*  *  *

Ashley had been about to climb the stairs to the third floor when the sound of the fiddle reached her through the open window in the kitchen. The music floated in on the sea breeze, haunting in a way, as if coming from a great distance.

It sent a shiver up her spine at first and turned her around and brought her out the back door. She walked down the path past her rose garden and the cottage, all the way to the lawn on the north side of the property.

At first, she couldn’t see the source of the music, and that sent more shivers cascading up and down her back. Was Jackie’s ghost a fiddler? Then she spied Ella sitting on the lowest branch of the live oak, which, according to Jackie, was exactly where Captain Teal had been spending eternity. Or at least, the last few hundred years since his demise in 1713.

What was she doing up there? Serenading him?

Or maybe she was serenading the guests. A surprising number of them were out on the lawn this afternoon, lounging in the Adirondack chairs, drawn there by the beautiful weather that this morning’s rain had ushered in, as well as Ella’s music.

One of them, Mr. Levine, who’d been coming to Howland House for several years, hurried down the path to meet Ashley. He smiled. “Now I see why you hired that girl. The music is a really nice touch,” he said with a big smile. “You should have her play in the library during your Saturday-afternoon teas.”

Now, there was an idea. “You know, Mr. Levine, I think I might just do that,” she said.

Mr. Levine nodded and headed off in the direction of one of the Adirondack chairs. Ashley continued across the lawn, approaching the live oak as Ella finished the haunting piece she’d been playing.

“What was that music?” Ashley asked.

“It’s an old ballad called ‘The Streets of Derry,’” Ella said, taking the fiddle down from her chin.

“It sounded so sad.”

“All Irish ballads sound sad, but this one has a happy ending. The Irishman is saved from the hangman at the last moment when his lady love gets a pardon from the king.” Ella’s eyes sparkled with mirth. She sat up in the tree like a wood sprite, her red hair wind-tossed and her large eyes catching the blue of the spring sky.

“It was beautiful, but…”

“But you don’t want me disturbing the guests? Sorry.”

“Oh no, not at all.” Ashley studied the young woman. “You should stop apologizing.”

“What?”

“You apologize all the time. Did you know that?”

“I’m sor— Uh, what were you about to say?” A blush rose to the young woman’s cheeks.

“I was going to ask why you’re sitting up there in the tree. Did Jackie put you up to this?”

“Not exactly.” Her blush deepened.

“No? I’ll bet he asked you to play for the ghost.”

Ella’s shoulders stiffened a little. She seemed suddenly nervous. “I’m sorry. I don’t believe in his ghost. But I needed to practice. So I came out here to play. I didn’t want to annoy anyone in the house, you know, who might be trying to get an afternoon nap or something.”

Did this young woman not realize how talented she was? Obviously not, if she was going out of her way to hide her light under a bushel basket. Ashley had to do something about Ella. And not because she was related to one of the Piece Makers, but because she deserved it.

“It’s fine if you want to come out here and play. In fact, it’s more than fine. The guests seem to like it. And now that we’re talking about it, what would you charge to play during our Saturday-afternoon teas?”

“Uh, well…” Ella’s eyes grew even bigger.

“What’s the matter? I know you’ve booked gigs before.”

“I have. I used to manage Urban Armadillo’s tours, but—”

“Urban Armadillo?”

Ella rolled her eyes. “That was the name of the band I was in. Cody thought it was a fabulous name. And who knows? Maybe aficionados of outlaw music thought it was fab. I always thought it was a bit ridiculous, but I’m not from Texas.”

“Outlaw music?”

“It’s a branch of country music, which is about as far from what I was just playing as you can get and still be in the traditional music genre.”

“Ah, I see. You’ve always been in a band and never a solo act.”

Ella shook her head.

“Well, maybe now’s the time to make a change. I’d like to book you for next Saturday’s tea. How much do you charge?”

Ella looked off toward the bay for a moment before naming a fee that was far too low, but Ashley wasn’t going to argue with her. Ella needed to figure that out for herself.

“I’ll book you as a trial on Saturday from three-thirty to five,” she said, without renegotiating the price. If it worked out, she would increase the fee by at least fifty percent.

“Thanks,” Ella said. “I appreciate it, especially after the mess I made this morning.”

Ashley shook her finger. “No more apologies. Now, I have another request. My babysitter just crapped out on me. Were you planning to be out this evening?”

“No.”

“If you don’t mind, could you keep an eye on Jackie?”

“No problem.”

“Thanks.”

Ashley turned, checking her watch. She was now running late. She scooted into the house, picked up her purse, and headed off to the parking lot where Rev. St. Pierre was waiting for her.

Since the Rev lived right across Lilac