The July sun beat down hard. It was too bright. Lydia had a head ache. It was her time. Her flow. Her nemesis. Today was not a day she wanted to be out delivering candles. So far neither the many tallow, nor the few wax candles she carried, showed any sign of heat damage. Her last stop was the Chapel of Our Lady. She entered the gloomy darkness of the small church. Usually at this time of day Friar Judas was on his knees before the altar praying. He must be out attending to some family in his congregation. Still Lydia called out, “Hello!”

No response. She looked around the sanctuary. It was such a quiet, tiny place compared to Sainte-Benigne. To Lydia it seemed more like a cave than a church. It felt like the sort of place an injured animal would go to heal or to die. She heard the skittering and the scratching of mice and rats. This church needed a cat. She went to the seat she had taken on Whitsun. In memory Jon Paul was beside her. In current time, Jon Paul and his papa had still not returned from the Hot Fair. They were past due. If only Friar Judas where here, he might have some word of them, or at least say a prayer with her for their safety.

A fly buzzed by her head. She swatted it away. It took off to a distant corner and proceeded to buzz at an alarming volume. Since the candles she was delivering were tithe candles, she did not need to be paid for them. She might as well leave them on the altar. The tallow candles on the altar had almost burned themselves out. In the sputtering glow of them, Lydia saw that the table was decorated with a painting. At first her heart leapt up within her. Had she just discovered another work by Antone’s Moder, Beatrice? No. The work was not so fine. The proportions of the kneeling Christ were not correct. He looked a bit disjointed. The thought of Beatrice brought the thought of Antone very near. He felt like someone she had once dreamed about but never really known. She doubted she would ever see a more beautiful young man. She also doubted she would ever see him again. By God’s grace, she prayed he was well, as were James, Brother Matthew and Moses Aaron. She placed the candles on the altar and made her way back out to the street.

Preoccupied by the memory of Antone, she took off toward the shop. A man’s voice called out to her, she turned her head. It was the driver of Na Simeon’s coach. He stopped the coach beside her. Through the open window, Domina Simeon asked, "Care for a ride home?"

The driver leapt down and helped Lydia inside. Na Simeon motioned to the seat across from her. She said, “Mademoiselle Wade I have heard good things about you. Father Thomas raves about your skill as a candle maker and praises your intelligence. You do our sex proud.”

Embarrassed and pleased by this compliment, Lydia said, “Thank you, Father Thomas is an excellent teacher and Isabelle is a kind and fair woman. I am very grateful."

“As you should be." Na Simeon cocked her head and said, "I hear there is potential trouble in your paradise.”

Not this, not now. Lydia braced herself for what came next.

Na Simeon said, “It has come to my attention that Bathsheba visited the candle shop. What did she want?”

This was not what Lydia expected. How did Na Simeon know about Bathsheba's visit? And since she did know, she had probably also deduced the reason for the visit. Lydia owed a great deal to Na Simeon, but did that mean she should answer this question? Carefully, she said, "She came to see me, to see if I would do a bit of work for her."

"And you said?"

"No."

"Good girl." Na Simeon shook her head. “I know Isabelle has a soft spot for that woman, because of Henri. Still she should not trust Bathsheba. I fear the she will besmirch Henri's name and betray Isabelle's good trust for a price. Be wary."

A sad silence settled over Lydia. Perhaps Henri's secret was not as secret Isabelle imagined. She asked, "What am I to be wary of?"

Na Simeon dropped her voice and said, “You and Isabelle are women doing men's work. There are those who do not approve. All kinds of trouble can be brewed when men think a woman has over stepped her place."

A chill went through Lydia.

"I am sorry my dear to have to be so candid, but in our short acquaintance I have surmised that you are shrewd. I do not want Henri drug through whatever filth Bathsheba can conjure, nor do I want Isabelle or you to be left without resources. I have heard Monsieur Arlette has a keen interest in Isabelle. He is an honorable man, see to it that Isabelle considers him as a match. As for you, I heard tell of a bee keeper who lights up every time you are in his vicinity. Jon Paul is a good man, almost as fine as James. You would do well to consider him. He would take care of you."

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

Hotly, Lydia said, "I can take care of myself."

"Can you? Really? Perhaps if you were in a profession more suited for a woman like your Aunt Rachel was, but you are not is such a profession. I have seen what can happen to a strong minded woman first hand if she does not have the shelter of a marriage."

To come back to this point again! After all Lydia had been through and how far she had traveled, it all came back once again to a husband. Would a woman's life forever be tied to a man? She protested, "But, I do not want a husband."

Na Simeon's eyes became very tender. She said, "I know. We sometimes get what we do not want. But can you honestly say you find Jon Paul repulsive?"

Lydia could not say that.

The coach stopped and the driver hopped down to help the ladies out. Na Simeon gave her dark purple gown a good stiff shake. The driver opened the shop door and Na Simeon sailed inside followed by Lydia. To Lydia's dismay, Brewer Arlette was inside with Isabelle alone.

Na Simeon said, “Good afternoon Madame Beauxchampe. Good afternoon Monsieur Arlette.” She glanced at the candles in his hands. Lydia saw a spark of mischief dance in the old woman's eyes as she said, “I have heard tell that your devotion to Christ our Lord has increased immeasurably as of late. Some have even suggested your were thinking of joining an order.”

Brewer Arlette looked positively startled by Na Simeon’s words. “No, I assure you Domina, I have no such aspirations.”

With a slide of her eyes to Isabelle, Na Simeon asked, “So how are your girls, Persephone and Anna?”

Clearly uncomfortable, Brewer Arlette responded, “They are doing well. Before I know it, I will be arranging marriages for them both.”

Na Simeon voice became sympathetic. “A delicate business no doubt. Children do grow up much too quickly. They will be needing a woman’s guiding hand. Do you have anyone in mind for a wife?”

The directness of her question, sent Lydia into a panic. Surely, the brewer would not name a name. He did not. He said, “I am seeking God’s wisdom in finding another wife. When it is time, He will instruct.”

Na Simeon tapped him on the shoulder with her fan. “You are a wise man. I will pray you follow God's instruction.”She turned her attention to Isabelle, “So how are you my dear?”

While Isabelle and Na Simeon chatted, Lydia helped Brewer Arlette with his latest purchase. His eyes kept straying to Isabelle. While Isabelle might seem oblivious, Na Simeon definitely was not. When the brewer left the ladies, Na Simeon gave Lydia a knowing glance.

*

The evening sun was nearing the horizon. It had been a long day. With Patch in her arms, Lydia stood staring out her open attic window. .A familiar figure appeared on the street. It was Bathsheba. She was hobbling along at a swift pace. A warning pricked inside of Lydia. The old woman was up to no good, she could feel it. Coming from the opposite direction was a young woman. The two stopped and spoke briefly. The distance between Lydia and the young woman was too great for her to recognize her. A package passed between them. It looked like a candle box. Had Bathsheba found someone to make her volt? The two women parted. The younger one was headed toward the shop.

There was a lightness in the young woman’s step. As she neared the candle shop, Lydia saw the woman clearly. She was Jon Paul’s sister-in-law, Marguerite. Had Marguerite used Jon Paul’s wax to fashion a vessel of harm? To Lydia’s dismay Marguerite stopped at the candle shop door and rang the bell. Lydia put Patch on her shoulder and climbed down the ladder. She heard Isabelle pass into the shop. Lydia followed quickly behind. She heard Marguerite say, “Good Evening, Isabelle. Mama is worried about Papa and Jon Paul. She thinks a prayer vigil is in order and she would like you to join us for morning Mass."

Lydia entered the shop just as Isabelle said, “Of course." At her feet, Ashes sat with eyes fixed on Marguerite. her tail swished back and forth ever so slowly. On Lydia’s shoulder, Patch sat as if ready to pounce.

To Lydia, Marguerite said, “I see you and your kitty are firmly attached. Peronelle somehow got me to consent to having that cat in the house with us. I suppose I relented because she is an only child and she gets lonely. There was a wistfulness in her voice that Lydia had not heard before. Marguerite gave her an almost genuine smile and said, “You too must come to the prayer vigil Mademoiselle Wade. I am sure Jon Paul would appreciate your prayers.” The look she gave her was suggestive and it irked Lydia.

Thought it was a struggle, she managed to say, “Thank you for the invitation. I accept.”

“I knew you would. I am sure the men are fine. Men will be men you know. I feel certain they have come upon a bit of fun and are not ready to leave her.”

Neither Lydia or Isabelle responded.

Marguerite cast her eye around the shop. “It looks like your business is doing well, Isabelle. Henri would be pleased.”

“Indeed he would.”

“Good evening ladies. See you in the morning.” She spun away from them and was out the door.

Under her breath Isabelle muttered, "Bitch. I would hate her if I were not a good Christian woman."

Lydia said nothing.