And then she’d come to Cape Breton, North America’s cradle of Celtic fiddling. Newspapers all across the continent had heralded her tour, called her the hottest new fiddler in a generation. She remembered the first time she’d walked into The Barn, a veteran performer already at the age of twenty-five. “Still can’t get any respect around here.” “He wouldn’t have missed hearing those strings of yours for the world. “I’m so glad he came tonight.”ĭave’s eyes crinkled. But at the ripe old age of eighty-eight, he didn’t grace the stage so often anymore either.
“Buddy’s warming them up for you.”īuddy MacMaster didn’t warm up for anyone. “Might be.” He thumbed over his shoulder as the unmistakable strains of world-class fiddling started up again. “Cass, you’re on in five.” Dave, innkeeper and resident emcee, stuck his head into what passed for a dressing room in The Barn.
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