It was not Madame Beauxchampe habit to attend Mass at Sainte-Benigne, but she gave Lydia permission to go. After yesterday's rain, the city smelled sweet. The morning sky was smeared with clouds faintly illumined in peachy light. The sun had yet to show its face. Through the huge doors, Lydia entered Sainte-Beigne. As it did yesterday, the grand cathedral welcomed her with its stout and loving presence. Peace came to her lonely heart. She sat down on a pew and closed her eyes. Prayers of gratitude filled her. She would make candles today. She would melt tallow to a perfect clarity and dip and re-dip until the candles were a perfect shape. When she finished her prayers she looked around at the candles that flickered on the altar. There was a crucifix she had not paid any attention to yesterday. This morning it seemed to jump out at her. The face of the crucified Christ was so like Rabbi Rashbam’s. Her eyes turned to the statue of the Virgin Mary. She reminded Lydia of her own mother. In fact, here now, she felt very close to her mother. She had not felt this close to her since she had sat with her during Mass in Father Peter's church. The ache of her loss throbbed inside of her. She was beginning to understand that this grief would never go away. Always, she would miss and want her mother.

The service began. Morning light crept up the windows. How many dawns had she met with James and Brother Matthew? Most likely, there would be no more. As for Antone? Would he reappear in her life at some point and share more sunrises with her? She did not know. How far down the road were James, Brother Matthew and Antone this morning? She prayed that where ever they were, they were safe and well.

Father Thomas' voice filled the cathedral. It drew Lydia close. It anchored her. The last two days of her life were a blur. Nothing seemed quite real. It all felt like a dream, she would wake up from. Last night she had been so exhausted she had tumbled into sleep. This morning when she awoke she thought at first she was with James, Brother Matthew, Antone and Moses Aaron, but she had not been. She had been in her attic bedroom. A large nameless seal colored cat had been curled against her, rumbling. Her belly was swollen and full of kittens. Lydia had been enchanted and horrified by this beast. She hoped the mama cat would be able to deliver her own babies with out incident. Her thoughts wandered from the awakening to the moment in which she resided. Father Thomas' voice was reciting scripture. She followed the music of it, but could not catch the words. Inside her heart was singing, "I will make candles today. I will."

After Mass Lydia hurried to the shop. Before she opened the door, she discovered another talent Madame Beauxchampe lacked. The aroma of burned toast and eggs filled the air. When Lydia came into the house kitchen, Madame was cleaning up the mess and crying. She said, “I-I-wanted to make you a nice breakfast…” She started sobbing and could go no farther.

“Its all right, Madame Beauxchampe. Sit, I will get this cleaned up and make us some breakfast.”

"Please call me Isabelle, Madame Beauxchampe is such a mouthful."

It was not proper, but Lydia said, "As you wish."

"Thank you." She took her seat, but she did not stop crying. The large seal colored cat sauntered into the kitchen and hopped up on Madame-- Isabelle's lap. She said, "Good morning, Ashes. Did you sleep well?" The cat rubbed her cheek against Isabelle's. While Isabelle continued to hug the cat and silently cry, the cat, Ashes, watched Lydia prepare the eggs and toast. Her small gray nostrils flared in and out as she sniffed the air. When the eggs and toast where ready, Lydia served them. With tears still streaming, Isabelle served the cat a portion of her egg and then picked up her spoon and dug in. Lydia was relieved to see her grief had not affected her appetite.

Later after breakfast, the candle making began. Isabelle was useless as a tallow melter or candle dipper, but she could cut strings and tie knots nicely.

As Lydia worked she was amazed that she had not forgotten anything her father had taught her. For all his faults and there were many, she could not deny he was the fine candle maker. And she had inherited his skill.

The shop bell rang. Isabelle left her wicks and went to the front room. She said, “Bonjour Brewer Arlette.”

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A male voice said a bit too sweetly, “Bonjour Madame Beauxchampe. I have come for my prayer candles.”

“You must do a lot of praying sir, this is the second time this week you have come to purchase my candles.”

“Oui, I am praying, I am praying my life is visited by an angel.”

Lydia had never heard a brewer talk like this before.

Brewer Arlette's boots crossed the room. He stopped. Lydia heard the faintest sound of wax striking wax. Was he handling the new batch she had just put out? He better not nick the candles.

He asked, “Did you make these Madame Beauxchampe ?”

“Oh, no, my assistant Mademoiselle Wade did.”

“A woman made these, remarkable.”

Lydia was not sure if she should be pleased or insulted by this comment.

Brewer Arlette said, “I will take all of these.”

It was odd, but Lydia felt torn. As happy as she was about finding a buyer so quickly for her wares, she hated to let the candles go. They were her first batch in over a year.

The price Brewer Becotte offered to pay was very generous.

When Isabelle came back into the work room her eyes were full of light. It was the first time Lydia had seen her happy since she met her.

“Lydia, we shall be able to eat and meet expenses at least for the next month, all because of you. For the first time, since Henri passed, I feel hope stirring inside of me."

*

The first day of April, Ashes successfully gave birth to five kittens. Three were calico and two were seal gray. Isabelle was quite taken with the tiny creatures. She told Lydia, "I think I best stay here and keep an eye on her. Can you manage alone?"

"Oui, I can." Alone, Lydia worked away the morning. Just after noon the shop door opened and a young man came inside. He was holding a large package. He smiled at Lydia. There was something vaguely familiar about him. His red hair, looked like burnished copper. He was perhaps in his mid twenties. He was not handsome like Antone, but he had a pleasing face. He smiled at her and said.“I have an order of wax for Madame Beauxchampe. Who might you be?"

“I am Mademoiselle Wade.”

He put the wax on the counter and said, “I am Jon Paul Gerard, pleased to meet you.” He bowed to her, and then unwrapped the packet of wax.

It was golden and sweet smelling. Lydia ran her fingers over the surface of it. The quality was good.

“I have one more in the wagon.” Jon Paul went outside. Lydia breathed in deeply. She loved the smell of wax. Her father had too.

Isabelle came into the shop. “Who’s here?”

“Monsieur Gerard.”

She frowned, and said, "Deal with him please. He was a good friend of Henri's and it pains me to see him." With a quick turn, she went back into the house kitchen.

Jon Paul brought in another hunk of wax and set it beside the other. His eyes roved first Lydia’s face and then the candles hanging behind her. “May I see a pair?”

Lydia turned and pulled a pair down. When she handed them to him his fingers brushed hers. The sensation was not cataclysmic like Antone's touch, but something definitely stirred inside of her. He whistled when he held the candles up to the light. “Very nice Mademoiselle. I am thinking that perhaps a bee keeper and candle maker should join company.” The look he gave her, was not like the looks Antone gave girls when he flirted with them. In fact she was not even sure he was flirting. She felt her face turn red as she dropped her eyes.

He let out a breath and said, "Please forgive me for my forwardness. I tend to say what pops into my head. My Mamma says it is not my best quality."

Still looking down, Lydia said, “Oui of course.” She fingered the rope around the second hunk of wax and untied it. She pushed the cheese cloth aside. This wax was of a lighter color. It looked like pearls. It was the most beautiful wax she had ever seen. “Where did you get this?”

“I have a little queen bee, runs her hive well. Her workers only get the finest nectars.” He paused and said, “I would like to buy these candles.”

“Thank you Monsieur." Before she could name the price of them, Jon Paul pressed a silver coin in her palm. She protested, “This is too much.”

“No, it is not.” His hand closed lightly over hers as he released the coin. Again something inside of her stirred. She pulled her hand free.

As Jon Paul put the candles in his breast pocket he said, “Domina Simeon told my mamma, that your given name is Lydia, from scripture."

Was Na Simeon prone to gossip? Lydia braced her shoulders back and replied, "Oui."

His eyes held the same kindness that James' eyes held. He smiled at her and said, “I believe your name is found in the book of Acts. Lydia was a seller of purple. A business woman, like yourself."

It was strange but Lydia had never thought of herself as such. Always in her mind the candle making came first. Money was just a fortunate outcome that allowed one to make a living.

His smile warmed her. He said, “The scriptures also says God opened Lydia's ears to respond to the things spoken to her by Paul. Perhaps God will open your ears to me.”

Surely, this WAS flirting. Was he like Antone?

Tartly she said, "I would not count on it."

Jon Paul threw his head back and laughed a great ringing laugh. There were bells in it. Lydia found herself deeply effected.