The next morning, Lydia stood in the yard with Na Simeon. James, Antone and Brother Matthew were about to leave. Brother Matthew was polite but oh, so distant. As for Antone, his eyes seemed to be searing holes in her. James alone was his same kind and generous self.

Hitched to the cart, Moses Aaron tossed his head as if he knew he was going home. The beast probably did know. Lydia went to him and placed her hand upon his cheek. She whispered, “I am going to miss you so much.”

Behind her James cleared his throat. She turned and hugged him. His arms were so strong. He had been her haven, her angel, how was she going to get on without him? When he let go of her she told him, “Thank you for all you have done for me James.”

“It was an honor, Miss Wade. Make the most of the life God has given you. Promise me you will take care of yourself.” The desperation of his plea sent a chill through her. She knew he was thinking about his sister.

“I promise.”

He took her hand and placed seven gold coins into it. "You have earned these.”

"But I did not finish the pilgrimage.”

Softly he said, “You did. We all did and each of us is richer for it.” He gave her one last smile, turned away from her and climbed into the cart where Brother Matthew waited.

Lydia dropped the coins into her apron pocket. Antone was still on the ground. He must get into the cart, soon, or she would lose all control. Shyly, he approached her. His heart was in his eyes. Under his breath he promised her, "If God allows, we will meet again." From his pack he pulled his flute, the one he had played last night. He handed it to her, and said, "To remember me by."

As if she could forget him. His fingers brushed hers when he handed her the flute. His touch was sweet and ever so painful. His eyes met hers. With eyes wide open, he took her hand, turned it over and kissed her palm. The sensation it sent through Lydia, was like nothing she had ever felt before. Behind him James cleared his throat. Antone winked and released her hand. Would she ever see him again? If she did, would she risk her life on him? He turned away from her and climbed into the cart.

The morning sun cast them in sharp light. There they were, her three men. Before this journey she had had a small opinion of the masculine heart and mind, but their kindness and valor had changed her opinion. She hated that she and Brother Matthew were parting on difficult terms but it could not be helped. Before James could call out the command to go, Moses Aaron started off. Until they disappeared at the gate Antone’s eyes were on her. Then all at once, they were gone. The sense of desolation that crashed over Lydia was devastating. The ones she loved had left her again. At least this time they were alive and by God's grace would remain so.

Gently Na Simeon placed an arm around her. "Take heart child. Today you will begin your new life. Good things are coming, take comfort in that."

All Lydia could do was nod. She did not trust her voice to speak. Good things might be coming, but good things were also going.

Na Simeon said, "Come along. It is time we made our way to Mass."

The coach stood ready and waiting. A footman helped them inside. All the way to Sainte-Benigne her eyes scanned the windows, hoping for one last glance at the cart and those it contained. She did not see them. They had vanished from sight and from her life.

Once inside Sainte-Benigne, the atmosphere of the place wrapped around Lydia like a a favorite shawl. She sat down on the pew beside Na Simeon and closed her eyes. Prayers for James, Brother Matthew, Moses Aaron and Antone filled her mind and heart. She glanced up when the procession began. On the altar candle flames wavered. Sudden gratitude filled her. Today, she would make candles. She would melt tallow to a perfect clarity and dip and re-dip until the candles were a perfect shape. Her gaze traveled fro the altar to a painting of Christ crucified. His face so like Rabbi Rashbam’s. She saw the statue of the Virgin Mary and thought of her own mother. In fact, here now, she felt closer to Moder than she had felt since she last saw her.

When Mass was over it was raining. The driver brought Na Simeon’s coach as close to the front doors as possible. The footmen helped them climb into the contraption. Over the wet road they traveled. The rain beat against the roof. When they rounded the corner, Lydia let out a gasp. There, waving in the driving rain, was the wooden sign she had seen yesterday. She asked, “Is this Madame Beauxchampe’s candle shop?”

“Oui,” said Na Simeon. “I had planned to go in with you, but this weather is no good for an old woman.” She slipped a sealed note into Lydia’s hand. “Your recommendation. Give it to Madame.” She gave Lydia an encouraging smile.

It was a struggle to return the smile. The rain stung Lydia’s face as she stepped out of the coach. Her knees felt unsteady beneath her. With a trembling hand she pushed the shop door open. The smell of scorched tallow filled her nostrils. The room was almost empty of candles, and the ones on the shelf were of average quality. There was a sound from the back of the shop, a door opened. Lydia had expected a mature woman to come through the door, but the young woman who did, was not yet near thirty. She had tawny hair and sad red rimmed eyes. In a wavering voice she asked, “How may I help you?”

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Lydia dropped a curtsey and said, “My name is Lydia Wade. Na Simeon has composed a letter of recommendation for me and I have samples of my work.”

The woman sighed. “A fine lot of good that letter’l do you. I cannot read but I recognize the seal and the handwriting. Let me see your candle work.”

From her pack Lydia took out her candle box. Madame Beauxchampe saw the box. “Did you say your last name was Wade. Is Thomas Wade a relation of yours?"

This reference to her father was unexpected Lydia. Should she admit her relation? Doing so, could secure her the job. She said, "Oui, he is my fader. Do you know him?"

“I met him once in at the Hot Fair in Troyes. He sold his wax candles in boxes just like that one. My Henri bought a box. I still have it here somewhere. Those candles produce the finest light." Lydia handed her the box. Madame Beauxchampe opened the box and ran her fingers along the smooth sides of the wax. She held a candle up and tested its wick. “Good wax work. How are you with tallow?”

“As good.”

Sudden tears sprang in Madame Beauxchamp's eyes. She wiped her tears with the hem of her apron and said, “My Henri, oh my Henri-- I feared I would lose his business. He would be heart broken if I did." She hid her face in her apron. She remained hidden for several moments, then she uncovered her face. “I am sorry. I do need your help Lydia. I believe you can help save this shop. But, I must tell you, I can not pay much right now. I can offer you three meals and a bed.”

It was enough. "I accept."

Madame Beauxchampe hugged her. "Thank you so much." She let go of her and said, "Let me show you the work room, I fear it is a mess." She led Lydia through the door to the workroom. There were the tools of the trade, wick cutters, dipping racks, large and small vats. The fire in the hearth lit the room with wavering light. A pot of scorched tallow bubbled over the fire. Lydia swung it away from the fire. The batch was completely ruined. Fortunately, there were several large blocks of tallow on the shelf along with a good portion of wax. All of it really needed to be in the cellar, not up here with the heat.

Lydia said, “Today we will straighten up this room. Tomorrow we will begin making candles."

Once again Madame Beauxchampe burst into tears. "Surely, you are an angel sent from God."

Lydia smiled, "I was thinking the same thing about you. We will do well together." With those few words Lydia’s life as a candle maker resumed.

That evening after everything had been cleaned and put away, Madame Beauxchampe took Lydia upstairs to a sitting room with two doors. On a bench a very pregnant seal gray cat, sat licking her haunches. She cast her yellow eyes in Lydia'a direction. Madame Beauxchampe said, "That be Ashes. Henri loved her something terrible. She has not been in the candle shop, since Henri passed." A small fire crackled in the fireplace. Propped against the wall near the fire place was a ladder that lead to a closed trap door. Madame Beauxchampe said, "That leads to your room. Its were the apprentice stayed. He ran off after Henri died. Took my best wax when he left. The space is small but clean. I do hate you have to navigate the ladder in your skirts, but it can not be helped. When you go up, just give the trap door a little push. It sticks some times. I will hand a candle up to you."

With her pack slung over her shoulder, and her skirt bunched in her hand, Lydia ascended the ladder. The trap door did indeed stick. She pushed hard. It opened and cold air swirled around her. Madame Beauxchampe stood on the second rung and handed her up the candle. Lydia took it. The warmth and the light of it was an instant comfort to her. She pulled herself onto the floor and looked around at the tiny space beneath the eaves. To her surprise the last light of day streamed through a small glass window. She had never had a room with a real glass window before. She went to the window and looked out over Dijon. The rain had stopped and the city looked clean and bright. Horses, carts, people and oxen, were making their way home. A young man with reddish hair driving a mule cart looked up at the window. She almost waved at him, and then realized, he could not see her. Her thoughts immediately went to James, Brother Matthew, Antone and Moses Aaron. Where were they camped this night? Were they safe, were the dry? Silent tears began to slip from her eyes. She watched the young man and the mule disappear down the street.

The stones from the sitting room fireplace adorned the wall to her right. A pallet lay near it. She went to the stones and placed her hand upon them. They were warm enough to to keep the chill away from her pallet. On a box beside the pallet was an actual book. It was small and bound in leather, but it had pages and words in Latin. She picked it up, It was a book of the Psalms and the Song of Songs. How had this treasure come to be in this room? She would be able to do her penance. It was time she got started.

By the light of her candle, she scratched words into the book Sister Timothy had given her with the ink Sister Timothyhad taught her to make in Romsey Abby. With each stroke of her reed pen, she felt contentment settle over her.