A Friendly Letter, The Blog.

Candles in the Window – A Quaker Christmas Story – Part V

Copyright (c) by Chuck Fager

At the rush of light and sound, Abram stumbled backward, and tripped again over the milk pail, which had rolled up behind him. Losing his balance, he flailed his arms out to keep from falling, flinging away his heavy parcel. The figure in the doorway, equally startled, reflexively dropped the club and caught the package one-handed.

Thoroughly rattled now, Abram rolled to his feet and darted to the gate. There he glanced back toward the cottage, then started to run again–right into Gran’s muffled form.

She caught hold of him and held him a moment, until he got over his panic. As he clung to her he suddenly realized she was stifling giggles.

“My heavens, lad,” she said, “don’t thee remember what the Saviour said? `When thou givest alms, let not thy left hand know what thy right hand is doing.’ I’m afraid thee needs some practice in that, Abram. Come along now.”

Back out of the alley, Gran turned away from the village, up the steep street again, then plunged suddenly through a low gate onto what Abram knew was the path up the side of Castleberg. “Is there someone up here too?” he whispered, but she shook her head and kept climbing. She knew this path as well as the rest of the town, even in the dark, and kept ahead of him despite her age.

At the crest of the hill she stepped to the ledge where the village lay visible below. The predawn air was clear now. Settle’s few remaining lights blinked up at them, and a glimmer wavered on the slow current of the Ribble.

The night sky was a much more impressive display, moonless and glittering with stars from horizon to horizon. The slope of Pen y Ghent was a distant silhouette. Behind him Abram heard the faint baaing of sheep, somewhere on the dales. It was cold up here, but beautiful. He realized that he had hardly felt the cold til now.

Pen y Ghent, in the morning mist

Gran broke into his thoughts. “Did thee recognize anyone at the cottage, Abram?” she asked.

He thought back. It all happened so fast. But wait–in the lamplight, just for a split-second, he thought he had seen a face–he drew in his breath sharply. “Gran!” he exclaimed. “It was the boy who kicked me. His hair, his tooth–they were the same.”

He felt rather than saw her nod. “Aye,” she said, “and he recognized thee, too. But what about the cottage, now? Did thee notice anything about it, lad?”

He thought back again. There hadn’t been much light until the door opened, just a glow from–from what?

Then he knew: “Candles,” he said. “In the window.”

“Aye,” she said again. “And did thee see what was on the candlestick?”

He frowned in thought, then shook his head.

“A black ribbon,” she said quietly. “It’s his father. Killed in Flanders two months ago.”

He considered this in silence, watching his breath turn into mist and starting to shiver, until Gran said, “We’d best get back. There’s still a dozen more stops to make yet. The war has been long, lad, and in the world’s eyes Christmas is short. Though I think thee knows better.”

He followed her quietly down the path, through the empty streets and across the square, toward the shuttered shop. The candles will be burning again tonight, Abram thought, and the redheaded lad might be out too, looking to throw his rocks.

But perhaps not. Abram realized that his anger at the boy was gone. If he met him again, he wouldn’t feel a need to fight. And he could hope that, if the lad had recognized him at the cottage, maybe some of his anger would begin to cool, too. Maybe they could have peace on earth, at least between the two of them, here in Settle, at least for now.

The elders of Settle Meeting wouldn’t let him put a candle in the window even for that small victory, he thought. But when the tapers were lit at home for dinner, he would remember. That would be his Quaker illumination for this Christmas.

It might not be much as the world measured such things. But it would do.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, December 15th, 2009 at 1:18 pm and is filed under Stories-Quaker. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.