One Candle

by Gale Sears

  The Abbot straightened. “The past is the past, Father Andrew. We live here in the valleys of the Waldenese. We live with them in peace.” He picked up the parchment. “None of this matters now.” He handed the scorched parchment to his assistant, and more of the writing fell away in ash.

  Father Andrew groaned, but did not speak.

  The Abbot brushed off his hands. “I will keep these safely secured in my private rooms, and if you find any others, you will bring them to me. Is that understood?” There was no reply. “Father Andrew?”

  “Yes, your Excellency.”

  The Abbot left the library, his assistant trailing behind.

  Tears leaked from Father Andrew’s eyes, and Father Nathanael was beside him. “Shall we be off, then?”

  “What?”

  “You remember—I was coming to get you for the outing.”

  Father Andrew shook his head. “Outing?”

  “To hear the Christmas music.”

  Andrew wiped away a few tears. “Ah, yes,” he said slowly. “I remember. My Albertina is singing with the Waldensian choir.”

  “She is, and I’m afraid we may be late now.”

  Father Andrew growled, “Stupid toad!”

  Father Nathanael took Andrew’s arm. “Shall we go listen to beautiful music and forget all this?”

  They started forward.

  Andrew glanced back at the fire. “I would like to forget, but I fear Father Pious will not be satisfied until those pages are cinders.”

  “The Abbot is a careful and sensible steward. He will protect them. Besides,” Father Nathanael said lightly as he opened the library door, “can we not be assured that Father Pious’s intentions and actions will be recorded in heaven?”

  “Yes,” Andrew said, a slight smile touching the corner of his mouth. “Yes. Thank you for that, Father Nathanael. We will leave it in His hands.”

  “There! See there? It is my friend. He is waving to us. I think he has a place for me.”

  “Your eyes are better than mine tonight,” Father Nathanael replied to his anxious charge.

  Andrew pointed. “There, by the water trough—my friend John Malan.”

  “Ah, yes. I see.” Father Nathanael said. “The one waving his hat. Careful now. The snow has been packed down.”

  They advanced slowly through the crowd of people, many stepping back to ease the way for the old priest, others giving the two men in their black cassocks and dark coats a wary look. Of either of these occurrences Andrew was unaware; his sight was fixed on his friend and a place to sit.

  As they neared, Andrew heard the gentle splash of artesian water as it came naturally through a wooden spigot and into the trough. Pure water. The trough was simply a large log hollowed out and set in place, the spigot pouring water in one side, and a channel cut in the wood allowing runoff on the other side. Father Andrew thought about all the fountains he’d seen in his younger days: the ornate fountains of Paris, the small courtyard fonts in Venice, the marvelous waterworks of Tivoli, and the fountains of Rome adorned by magnificent statuary. Yet Andrew loved this little trough more than the rest. He had drunk its refreshing water the first day he’d come into Torre Pellice fifty years ago. He smiled at the memory.

  “There you are!” John Malan said brightly. “The joy of the Savior’s birth!”

  Andrew sat down next to his friend, grateful for the place to rest. “The joy of the Savior’s birth to you!” he returned to John. He looked up at Father Nathanael. “I am settled, Father Nathanael. Thank you for your help.” The young priest went to stand by the trough, leaving the friends to their visit.

  John put his hat on his head and sat down. “There are clouds tonight. I hope it doesn’t snow.”

  Andrew looked up at the sky. “No, I don’t think it will.”

  “You were almost late,” John scolded. “The music will begin soon.”

  Andrew frowned. “There was some trouble at the monastery.”

  “Trouble?”

  Andrew flicked his hand dismissively. “Ah, it’s over now. Besides, any more it takes me some time to get from place to place.”

  John nodded. “Yes. I know this well myself.”

  “And where is Jean?” Andrew asked, suddenly aware that his other friend was absent.

  “Oh, he is over on the other side of the courtyard with his family.”

  “And where is your family?”

  John chuckled. “Scattered about. We Waldenese are all related in one way or another, so when there’s a gathering of any sort we like to do our visiting. And where are your nephew Rene and his family?”

  “Close to the front, I would imagine. They wish to give Albertina encouragement.”

  “As if she needs such a thing,” John scoffed. “She has the voice of an angel.”

  Andrew smiled. “As does Jean’s granddaughter Madeleine.”

  “Do we know what they’re singing?”

  “Albertina said two songs with the choir, and then she and Madeleine will sing ‘To the Choir of Angels.’”

  John brightened. “Ah! A beautiful Christmas song. And we will get to sing along?”

  “Yes.”

  “And will Albertina sing a solo?”

  Father Andrew nodded. “Yes. Yes, I believe so.”

  “And what will it be?”

  “That I don’t know. No one will tell me. It is supposed to be a surprise.”

  Soft strains of music issued from the small orchestra as the choir members filed into their places on the raised steps. Behind and to the side of their position, the Waldensian temple’s pale yellow facade seemed to glow in the fading light. The audience settled itself on makeshift wooden benches arranged for the occasion.

  Father Andrew squinted, finally catching sight of his great-niece on the front row with Madeleine Cardon right beside her.

  “Do you see your Albertina?” John asked.

  “Yes. Front row. And Madeleine is beside her.”

  The conductor came to the front and motioned to the two girls, who stepped forward.

  “Ah! Look at that!” John Malan whispered excitedly. “They begin the program! It is a great honor.”

  Andrew grinned, but kept his excitement in dignified silence.

  The music started and the girls sang:

  To the choir of angels

  Descending from the heavens

  Let us add our praises

  And sing Noel!

  Let us add our praises

  And sing Noel!

  Andrew and John joined their voices with the other congregants in singing the final part of the chorus:

  Noel! Noel! Let us all sing Noel!

  After the girls’ song, there was the dancing of the children, and everyone clapped and encouraged the youngest set, whose clumsy antics showed it to be their premiere performance.

  The choir then sang several carols, among them one of Andrew’s favorites, Adeste Fideles. In his mind, he translated the Latin. “Oh, come, all ye faithful, joyful and triumphant. Oh, come ye, oh, come ye to Bethlehem.” Bethlehem. He had been to that sacred place. The long journey to the Holy Land had been one of his pilgrimages. At the town of the Lord’s birth he had bowed through the low arch of the church door and crawled to the steps that led to the underground grotto. He had seen the star on the floor, the urns of incense, the many candles. He had prayed for the heat of devotion to pierce his heart, but it did not come. Instead, when he emerged from the church, he felt a longing for the simple place, the shepherds’ field, the dark sky with a thousand stars.

  A heavenly voice brought him back to the courtyard and the chilly night. Albertina stood in front of the choir, her pale face glowing amidst the gathering dark, her voice alone bringing the sacred words and joyous melody to the ears of the captivated audience. Tears pressed at the back of Andrew’s
throat. This was his favorite carol. This was his surprise. He felt the pain and anger of the library diminish, and he smiled.

  Angels from the realms of glory,

  Wing your flight o’er all the earth;

  Ye who sang creation’s story

  Now proclaim Messiah’s birth!

  Her voice was thrilling, and Andrew knew that other hearts were beating faster just like his. He looked over at John Malan and found him staring at the singer as though an angel had just stepped from heaven.

  Shepherds in the fields abiding

  Watching o’er your flocks by night

  God with man is now residing

  Yonder shines the Infant Light.

  “He is the way, the truth, and the light,” Andrew recited silently. He cupped his hand behind his ear to better catch the words of the next verse. It was his favorite.

  Sages, leave your contemplations

  Brighter visions beam afar;

  Seek the great desire of nations

  Ye have seen his natal star.

  Emotion flooded his aged frame as Andrew thought back to that day in the Cathédrale de Saint-Jean-Baptiste when he had repented the hollow wisdom of the world and given his life to God. “Sages leave your contemplations—brighter visions beam afar.” His great-niece’s voice gained strength and emotion as she shared the final verse. To Andrew it seemed as though she called out to the listeners—calling them to prepare for the Lord’s coming.

  Saints before the altar bending

  Watching long in hope and fear

  Suddenly the Lord descending

  In His temple shall appear.

  Andrew saw John Malan look quickly at the Waldensian church. The Waldenese called their churches temples, and perhaps his friend was startled by the thought of the Lord Jesus coming to teach in their temple as he had in the synagogue at Capernaum, or the temple at Jerusalem.

  Come and worship

  Come and worship

  Worship Christ, the newborn King!

  The pure voice beckoned to the faithful followers, and without hesitation their voices joined in the offering.

  Come and worship

  Come and worship

  Worship Christ, the newborn King!

  The joy of the celebration filled every heart as the final note of the carol faded into the Christmas night. John Malan turned to Father Andrew, blinking back tears.

  “She is a gift from God.”

  Andrew nodded several times. “Yes. Yes, she is.”

  Father Nathanael came forward as people stood, some milling about and talking, some heading off for the warmth of home. “Are you ready to leave?” he asked quietly.

  “Yes. Help me up, please; my bones are beginning to freeze.”

  Just as Father Nathanael had the old priest on his feet, Albertina rushed to his side. She threw her arms around him. “So? So? How did you like your surprise?” Andrew staggered back and Father Nathanael steadied him. “Oh, sorry, Uncle! I am just so glad to see you here. I didn’t know if you would try with the threat of snow.”

  “Ha! I remember going over the steep heights of Mount Cenis on snowshoes. It was January and the snow was twenty feet deep.” Albertina gave him a glowing look. “Besides,” he continued, “could a little snow keep me from hearing your perfect voice?”

  Albertina blushed. “Oh, Uncle, don’t tease me.”

  John Malan stepped forward. “He is not teasing you, my dear. It is a perfect voice.”

  Albertina nodded her head in recognition of the compliment, but then adroitly moved the subject away from herself. “Were you glad that I sang your favorite?”

  “Delighted.”

  “And we also liked the song you and Madeleine Cardon sang,” John said.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Andrew looked about. “Where is she, by the way? I wanted to congratulate her.”

  “She is with her family.”

  “And I must go and find my family,” John said, moving off. “The peace of Christmas be with you!” he called.

  Andrew waved. “And with you, old friend! Be careful on the snow!”

  At that moment, Andrew’s nephew, Rene, his wife, Francesca, and their son, Joseph, arrived. Joseph sat like a little king as his father pulled him along on one of the family’s wooden sledges. The thick wooden runners slid easily over the packed snow, which made for an exciting ride for the little one. Joseph’s cheeks were red from the chilly wind, and his blue eyes shone with the wonder of Christmas.

  At the sight of the boy, all sadness left Father Andrew’s heart. “Well, there he is! There he is!” he boomed. “The little soldier. The little man who just had his birthday!”

  Joseph scrambled off the sledge and ran to grab the hand of his great-uncle. “I am three now!” he babbled. “Three, three, three!”

  “You are three, and getting to be such a big boy.” Joseph looked up into the face of his great-uncle and grinned. Father Andrew winked at him. “Did you like the concert?”

  Joseph hopped up and down. “Yes, yes, yes!” he said on every hop.

  “And what did you like the best?”

  Joseph looked at his sister and pointed at her. “I liked Albi.” The family laughed as Albertina stooped down to hug her brother.

  “Yes, so did I,” Andrew concurred.

  “The dancing, too!” Joseph added. “I liked the dancing!”

  “Oh, yes? Well, in a few years you will be dancing with them,” Andrew promised.

  Joseph skipped around for a few moments performing his imitation of the dancers, until his feet slipped on the hard-packed snow, and he fell. The assembled group gasped as Albertina rushed to help him.

  “Are you all right, dear one?” She looked quickly to her mother’s face and saw unmasked alarm. “He’s all right, Mother. He’s fine. Just a little bump.”

  “I fell down,” he said meekly as Albertina helped him stand. His lower lip began to quiver.

  Andrew reached out his hand to the boy. “There, now. Come to your uncle, brave boy. Come on. Should I tell you how many times I have fallen on the snow and ice?”

  Joseph moved forward and took his great-uncle’s hand. “How many?”

  “More than you can count on all your fingers and all your toes,” Father Andrew said in a triumphant voice as though proud of the accomplishment. Joseph giggled. “There’s a boy. There’s a brave boy,” Andrew said lovingly.

  A soft snow swirled among the group, and for a moment they were quiet—captivated by the magic of the unexpected snowfall. Finally, Francesca Guy moved to Andrew’s side. “Christmas joy,” she said softly.

  “Christmas joy,” Andrew returned.

  “Come along, little one,” she said to Joseph. “It is long past your bedtime.”

  “But I want to stay with Uncle.”

  Andrew took Father Nathanael’s proffered arm. “I would love to stay with you, my dear Joseph, but it is past my bedtime, too.”

  The boy gave him a puzzled look and then smiled. “Because you are old.”

  Andrew stifled a laugh. “Yes, because I am old.”

  Albertina came to give him a kiss. “Good night, old bear. Christmas joy.”

  “Christmas joy, my angel. Thank you for my song.”

  Rene picked up Joseph and set him on the sledge. “Good night, Uncle. Francesca and I may see you at the midnight Mass.”

  “If Father Nathanael can keep me awake.”

  As the snow thickened, they parted ways, Andrew carefully navigating the uneven cobbles of the street and the patches of snow. He was grateful for Father Nathanael’s steady arm, and told him so.

  Father Nathanael was taken aback, but said only, “Christmas joy, honored one.”

  “I am just an old priest,” Father Andrew returned. “The true Honored One is the baby i
n the manger.” The one who saved my life, Andrew reflected to himself.

  A snowflake fell on his nose and he brushed it away. Another year ending, he thought, and soon another year beginning. A new decade. Perhaps life would go on as usual, or perhaps he would see new things. Another year. In all likelihood, he would be in heaven with his mother and father and his uncle Jacques. That would be nice. “Life eternal,” he said out loud without realizing.

  “What’s that?” Father Nathanael asked.

  “Life eternal,” Andrew said again. “Think how many gifts came with the babe of Bethlehem.”

  “The greatest gifts,” Father Nathanael answered simply. “The greatest gifts.”

  Note

  The Waldensian temple (church) in Torre Pellice was the work of Colonel Beckwith, an English missionary and philanthropist who collected the necessary money for its building from his friends in England. He also made preparations for the project and guided its building. The temple was completed in June of 1852. I place its completion at an earlier date in the book, because of the significance to the Waldensian faithful and the impression made on the early LDS missionaries.

  Chapter Seven

  Salt Lake City

  December 24, 1849

  Eliza settled her sister-in-law Charlotte in the small bed, plumped her pillow, and placed a blanket over the coverlet.

  “I don’t know that an extra blanket is necessary,” Charlotte said.

  “Let me pamper you,” Eliza returned. “I know you are as healthy as an ox, but you just had your baby ten days ago, and Lorenzo would be incensed if I didn’t fuss a bit.”

  Charlotte smiled. “Oh, well then, fuss away.”

  They spoke quietly as the makeshift bed for the newborn occupied the same small room as her mother’s. Eliza checked on Roxcy Armatha to make sure she was covered. The crude log cabin in which the Snow family lived had its share of unplugged chinks through which the winter wind found passage. Eliza discovered one of these cracks not far from the baby’s bed, and put her hand over it.

  “Draft?” Charlotte asked.

  “A rather large one.”

  “Plug in one of the braid pieces.”