Read The Christmas Candle for Free Online

on the late hour or significant night or both, but Edward grew nostalgic, reflective. “How many times have I done this? How many hours in this shop?” he said aloud to no one but himself. “My, it’s been good. Good wife, friends . . . faith.”
    Cold air rushed into the room. He turned and saw Bea standing in the doorway. The fireplace glow silhouetted her frame. Her face was left in shadows, and for a moment he saw her as she had looked at age twenty-five. Slim figure. Her hair burnt orange, as bright as a summer sunset, reminding him of the night fifty years earlier when they had first seen the angel.
    Edward’s reverie was interrupted by the sound of his wife’s voice. “Edward? Did you hear me? Would you like some tea?”
    â€œYes. That would be nice.” Edward, content with the width of the candles, suspended the rack on eye-level ceiling hooks in the center of the shop.
    Bea handed him a cup, and the two stood looking at the rack.
    â€œRemember fifty years ago?” he asked. “The first candle we gave?”
    â€œTo Reverend Pillington. How could I forget?”
    â€œHe and I were the same age.”
    â€œHe was a year younger perhaps. But he was so desperate to believe.”
    Edward nodded. “I remember feeling odd giving a candle of faith to a man of faith.”
    â€œPurveyors of hope need it the most.”
    â€œGod blessed him. And blessed Gladstone through him.” Edward lowered his tea. “May he rest in peace.”
    The candle maker cleaned the tallow tub and stoked the fire. Only then did he notice that Bea had left the shop again.
    She returned with a bottle and held it up as she closed the door. “Apple wine?”
    â€œA gift from Elizabeth?”
    â€œNice to be bribed.”
    She filled two cups and handed one to him. He lifted his as a toast. “To the last candle.”
    â€œTo the last candle.”
    They again took their seats by the fire, and for a time neither spoke.
    â€œThe house is quiet this year,” said Bea.
    â€œPainfully so.”
    Bea turned toward her husband. “Can we talk about the candle again? Do we have to give it away? Would it be so bad if we kept it for ourselves?”
    â€œNow, Bea. I don’t know if it is intended for us.”
    â€œMaybe, since it’s the last one, this candle is a gift to the Haddington family. Maybe?”
    â€œPerhaps. The Lord knows we could use a miracle.” He lit his pipe, and the two rocked in silence.
    â€œStaying awake?” she finally asked.
    â€œWhy certainly,” he pledged.
    Good intentions, however, gave way to weary bodies. Little by little their eyelids drooped and heads lowered. Before the fire had embered, their heads rested, chins on chests, and the candle maker and his wife were sound asleep.
    The light woke them. Brilliant, explosive, and shocking light. December midnight became July noonday. Edward needed a moment to come to his senses. He couldn’t remember why he was sleeping in a chair and not in his bed. As Edward rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, Bea nudged him.
    Her whisper had force. “Edward! The angel!”
    He looked straight into the light, squinting as if looking into the sun. He distinguished a silhouette.
    The angel lifted an illuminated hand and paused as if to make certain the couple was watching. He took a step in the direction of the rack. Edward and Bea leaned forward. The angel touched a candle toward the end of the third row— and then disappeared. The candle glowed for a few seconds against the now-darkened room.
    As the light diminished, Bea urged, “Edward! The candle!”
    If only he had kept his eyes on it. If only he hadn’t looked away to see where the angel went. If only his foot hadn’t gone to sleep.
    Then the calamity might have been averted, but it wasn’t.
    Edward took a step on his tingling foot and lost his balance. As he fell face forward, he