Free Restoring Harmony by Joelle Anthony Page B

week.

13
     
     
     
     
     
    AS SOON AS I STEPPED OFF THE STREET AND INTO THE market, I began to doubt my plan. Grandpa had told me that I could find produce and other goods for sale, but instead all I saw were men crowded together inside tents and under canopies, drinking, smoking, and playing cards. I heard a few whistles, and from inside a tent someone called out, “Hey, baby!”
    I like to think I’m brave, but my insides twisted, uneasy. I considered just going back to the house, but I had to earn some money, so I made myself keep walking. Eventually the tents full of cardplayers gave way to food stalls and produce stands. I found a spot near a pile of old tires, and I opened my fiddle case and took out Jewels. By the time I had her tuned, a small crowd of kids had gathered around.
    “You gonna play?” one asked.
    “Yep.” I nudged the case casually with my foot, so it was out in front of me a bit.
    I started with something simple that people might know, “Turkey in the Straw . ” Before I’d finished, a few adults had wandered over to listen. The next one I played was called “Rosin the Beau . ” It was an old tune Dad and I had learned from a Cape Breton fiddler. After that, I played a couple of Irish reels and a few people started a sweaty dance right out in front of me.
    I’d been playing for a half an hour before I finally earned something. A man in dingy jeans and a faded work shirt leaned down and dropped four small onions in the case. I smiled at him and he shrugged apologetically, but my heart leapt at the idea of something besides tomatoes and lettuce. Onions could really liven up a meal too.
    A woman, dressed nicer than anyone I’d seen so far, nudged her two sparkling-clean kids forward. They each put a little money in the case and gave me wide smiles. I grinned back and nodded my thanks. After that, the listeners added half a loaf of bread, two cucumbers, and some cherries. When an old farmer in overalls set a whole pie down next to my case, I smiled big. My grandparents would be excited to see that!
    After an hour, I wiped at my dripping forehead with the back of my bow hand and said, “I think I’m about done.” The heat of the day pressed down on me and couldn’t be good for Jewels either.
    “Play one more!” someone shouted.
    I ran my bow lightly over the strings, in a thinking sort of way, and tried to come up with something good to leave them with. The fiddle music made me ache for Dad and our evenings playing on the porch together, and I decided on my name-sake song, just for him. Even though everyone at home likes to tease me when I play it, calling me Handsome Molly, no one here knew my name, so I didn’t think twice. What did surprise me was that two or three people started singing right away.
I wish I was in London
Or some other seaport town
Set my foot in a steamboat
And sail the ocean ’round.

While sailing around the ocean
While sailing around the sea
I’d think of handsome Molly
Wherever she might be.
    The crowd grew larger, and a few more people joined in on the singing. They seemed to know all the verses, so I just kept playing. Finally, we got to the end.
Sail around the ocean
Sail around the sea
Think of handsome Molly
Wherever she might be.
    “I know exactly where handsome Molly is,” I heard someone say as I drew out the last note. I looked up, saw the guy from the MAX train, and felt a little flutter in my heart. I gave him a big grin, and he shook his sandy hair out of his eyes and smiled back.
    And then he placed an icy bottle of root beer next to my fiddle case. Everyone else had clapped and wandered away, but he came and sat on the tires. I grabbed the pop and collapsed next to him. Not the smartest place to sit, hot tires, in the middle of a summer’s day, but I was curious about him.
    “Wow,” I said. “I haven’t had pop in . . . well, I don’t know how long. Where’d you get it?”
    “Ask me no questions, I’ll tell you no lies.”
    He