The cry of a living baby woke Lydia from sleep. The warm bodies of her three younger sisters were pressed against her on the pallet by the hearth. Quincy and Aunt Rachel were with Hagar and the baby, the sweet living baby. This was how the morning after a birth was supposed to be. In the dim light, she studied the sleeping faces of her sisters. Grief tore through her. Only once had Moder known the blessed miracle of a living babe. Only once. Now, Moder was gone, gone. Fresh tears came to Lydia’s eyes.

Rose popped up. “What you be crying for? You got a ache?”

Lydia did, but there was no way to explain it to this child.

“There, there, dunna be crying so. Has you got a baby in your belly? Moder cries when she does.” She patted Lydia gently on the shoulder. “Well, dry your tears and get up. We got mouths to feed.”

After breakfast, Aunt Rachel said, "We best be going. I am sure word has spread about the babe's arrival. Lydia, kiss your sisters good bye." Though she was not ready to leave, Lydia understood her aunt's meaning. Her father might want a peek at his latest contribution to the human race. An encounter with him would not serve any of them well. Quincy, Rose, Bea and Annie were all dutifully and affectionately kissed. The baby and Hagar were both sleeping in the next room. Aunt Rachel said to Rose, "If anything seems amiss, send Quincy for me."

"Aye, I will." Aunt Rachel stooped down and hugged the little girl. So much rested on Rose's tiny shoulders and yet she seemed to bear her burdens well.

When the door closed behind them, Lydia felt like she was going to cry again. Would she see her sisters again? Would Aunt Rachel take her?

Lydia followed her aunt up the littered street. Instead of going back to her house, Aunt Rachel turned toward the market. Lydia wondered, What does she need at the market? When they neared Saint Joseph’s chapel, Father Peter was on the steps reciting the banns. Much to her dismay Lydia saw her father and Jacob standing near the steps. Old Kate was there too and she did not look happy.

Father Peter saw Lydia. With eyes upon her, he proclaimed, “Lydia Wade will wed Jacob Higden on April seventh in the year of our Lord 1299.” A sick feeling twisted in Lydia’s stomach. There was apology in the priest’s eyes. April seventh was in a fortnight! Her mother was barely cold in her grave and her father was marrying her off to Jacob! JACOB! This was unavoidable. Truth was she was late into her thirteenth year. Most girls had already been bedded by the time they reached thirteen. She looked at her Aunt Rachel. Her mouth was set in hard straight line. She had known about this! She had deliberately come this way so Lydia could hear the banns.

The sound of a horse galloping caused the entire crowd to turn, including Lydia. A man on horseback reigned in his horse and shouted, “Lord Bolton has been found.”

Lydia did not know Lord Bolton had been missing.

A man asked, “Is he all right?”

“Nay, he is dead. Drowned in the River Test. His body--"”

Aunt Rachel jerked Lydia’s arm and pulled her away from the crowd. She hissed, "There is no need to listen to the details." Swiftly they walked away from the crowd, but they were not swift enough. Stout though he was, Thomas Wade could move like a cat. He was instantly upon them. He grabbed his sister's shoulder and asked, “Where do you think you are takin’ my daughter?”

Aunt Rachel jerked her shoulder free from his grip.

“Home.”

“Then you are headed in the wrong direction.”

Lydia saw her father jut out his chin. Aunt Rachel responded with the same gesture. She waited for a battle. None came. Aunt Rachel said, “Lydia, go to Old Kate. I will come visit you tomorrow’s eve." Incredulous that her aunt was handing her over without a fight Lydia just stared at her. "Go on now. I said I would come tomorrow and I will. Be quick."

*

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

The fire in the hearth heated the large lard kettle. The smell of simmering beef fat filled the kitchen. Lydia, kept an eye on the kettle. Tallow could turn so easily. It had to be the perfect clarity to make the kind of candles Thomas Wade was famous for. Since her mother’s death, her father had not been around much, but he was here this afternoon. He and Jacob were at the table cutting strings and tying the poles.

Old Kate had gone to market for more raisins.

As soon as his strings were all tied, Thomas Wade said, “I have an errand to run. You two mind the shop.”

She stared at her father’s back as he left the room. Angrily she thought, Goin’ off for a nip or two probably, or off to buy another damned rooster. Her mind caught on the next thought. Had he gone to see the baby, Hagar and the rest? Jealousy flared inside of her mixed with longing. She felt Jacob’s eyes upon her. Uneasiness swept through her. She had never been alone with Jacob ever. Moder or Old Kate we’re always around. Warily, she glanced in his direction. His eager eyes met hers. In the past he had kept his distance, but now, delighted with their pending marriage, he seemed about to pop out of his pock marked skin.

While Lydia tended the tallow, Jacob kept looking at her sideways. She growled, “You are not paying attention Jacob. The strings are too long. Father will not like the waste.” Jacob colored and smiled at her. Lydia did not return his smile.

When the fat had reached perfection, Lydia said, “It is time.” Jacob came to her side. He was close, too close. He took the pouring pot, scooped out the liquid and slowly poured the tallow into the basin on the table. He reached for the strings, but Lydia said, “No, I will do that.” Even though Jacob had been a Master Chandler for a year, she dipped better than he did. With adept motion, Lydia dunked the strings. It always fascinated her how the strings would grow and grow as more as more tallow clung to them. String by itself burned quickly. String surrounded by tallow gave light and lasted so much longer. When the candles were the proper width and length, she hung them on the cooling rack. The next instant, Jacob took her into his arms. Lydia hissed, “Let go of me!”

His lips touched her cheek and he said, “You are mine now.”

Lydia pushed against him, but he would not let go. “I am not yours yet.” Jacob’s eyes narrowed as darkness filled them. His grasp grew tighter. She had never realized how strong he was. Frightened she said, “You are hurting me.”

Jacob’s lips came down hard on hers. Wild fear hammered inside her. His hand slid down her back as he pulled her even closer. She could not breathe or move. An acrid smell filled the room. Lydia jerked her mouth free of his and sputtered, “Ja-jacob, you forgot to put out the tallow.”

Instantly Jacob let go of her. Lydia’s father hated waste and his fists often communicated this hatred. Jacob picked up the ladle and pushed it into the pot. He shook his head. “It is ruined.”

Lydia said, “You get to tell Father what happened.”

Jacob’s face turned red. “If you had not distracted me this would not have happened.”

Hot, sharp, anger filled Lydia. She said, “It was not my fault. You were distracted by your own lust. I have done nothing to tempt you.”

A sinister gleam came into Jacob’s eyes.He said, “Just your presence tempts me. Woman was created to tempt man, to test his faithfulness to God. I am not very faithful I fear.” He took a step towards her.

Old Kate pushed open the kitchen door. In her hand was a small bag. She wrinkled her nose at the stench and narrowed her eyes when she saw Jacob’s proximity. “Has the Master gone missin’ again?”

Silently, Lydia nodded.

The shop door bell rang. All three turned to the sound. Lydia left the kitchen and passed through the door that lead to the shop. James, Dame Paston’s man, stood in the room. A trace of gray flecked his dark hair. He was a very kind man with warm brown eyes. Lydia had known her entire life. He said, “Miss Wade, the Dame would like a dozen of your finest wax tapers.”

“Of course.” She went behind the counter and pulled the wax taper box from beneath the counter. These were their best candles, made from the wax of Aunt Rachel’s hives. The tapers were beautiful, shiny and smelled of honey. It was a rare treat to make these candles and it pained her every time they sold even one. Carefully she counted out the candles and wrapped them in cloth before placing them in another wooden box. She handed them to James. He smiled at her. She took the money he placed on the counter.

He said, “I hear congratulations are in order. May you and Mr. Higden be very happy together.”

Was he serious? His eyes held concern, that he did not voice. It took all Lydia had to respond, “Thank you, Sir.” James tipped his head to her and went out into the street. Lydia sunk down onto the stool behind the counter. As she struggled to push back her tears, her father entered the shop.

He sniffed the air. The smell of scorched tallow hovered. “Did Jacob burn another batch?”

Lydia nodded. She waited for her father’s wrath. It surprised her when it did not come. Wearily he shook his head. "Jacob dunna have a good head on him. You do, pity you was born a girl."

Lydia had to literally bite her tongue.

Slowly Thomas Wade looked around his shop. The shelves were filled with his excellent candles in shades of yellow, cream and gold. A look of satisfaction filled his eyes. He came behind the counter and laid a gentle hand on his daughter's shoulder. With more tenderness than Lydia had ever heard in his voice he said, “You are a fine candlemaker, my girl and good with numbers. This shop would not be what is without you.”

Deeply touched by his rare compliments, Lydia stuttered, "Th-thank you."