A Flicker of Doubt (Book 4 in the Candlemaking Mysteries) (6 page)

“
With Cragg, it’s always
urgent I’ll talk to him later. I thought you might be able to use a
hand,” I said.

“
Harrison, I almost forgot,
you need to call Mrs. Jorgenson. I promised her you’d call the
second you got back in. She’s determined to talk to you as soon as
possible.”

“
What did she want?” I
asked. As my star candle- making student, Mrs. Jorgenson expected
my full and immediate attention, and she paid for the privilege.
There were times when the check from her private lessons made the
difference between bankruptcy and solvency for my business, so I
indulged her whenever I could.

“
She didn’t say. You know
how she feels about dealing with anyone but the owner.”

I had to laugh, since Eve still knew more
about candlemaking than I did, although I was learning in great
leaps and bounds. It was amazing how quickly I took to
candlemaking, even with the motivation I had to learn.

I looked through the register receipts until
Eve said impatiently, “Harrison, aren’t you going to call her?”

I smiled at Eve and reached for the
telephone. I had just hit the sixth number when the door opened and
the lady herself walked in.

“
I was just trying to call
you,” I said.

“
I grew weary of waiting,”
she replied curtly.

“
Sorry about that. I had
quite a shock today. I’m not myself.”

Mrs. J’s eyes softened for a moment “So I
heard.” Though the shop was relatively empty, she asked, “May we
speak in private in the classroom?”

“
Lead the way,” I said, and
followed her through the aisle to the backroom where Eve and I
taught our lessons.

Once we were there, I asked, “So, are you
ready for ‘ your next lesson? We’re going to tackle pouring next,
right?”

‘
That’s what I wanted to
speak with you about”

I felt a sudden icy ball in the pit of my
stomach. Was she leaving my class—and my shop—at last? I’d been
dreading the day, but I wasn’t any more prepared for it than I had
been the first time she’d walked through my door. “Go ahead. I’m
listening.”

She said, “Is there any chance you have time
for a lesson now? I’m really quite eager to get started on pouring
techniques, and I’m not at all certain I can stand to wait another
minute.”

Something must have shown on my face,
because she added, “Harrison, I know you’ve had a difficult day. If
you’d rather not, I understand completely. I do want you to know
that I’m willing to pay extra for the privilege for such short
notice if you’re willing to teach me today.”

“
Mrs. Jorgenson,
candlemaking is exactly what I need in my life right now. I won’t
even charge you extra for the privilege. Let me tell Eve, and then
we’ll get started.”

Eve was watching behind me as I approached
her and started gathering up some of the basic supplies I’d need
for the lesson. “What did she say?”

“
She’s decided she wants a
candlemaking lesson right now. We’re going to do a pour if you can
handle the front by yourself.”

Eve nearly shoved me back to the classroom
as I finished grabbing the last few items I needed from our stock.
“Go. I’ve got this covered.”

I walked back into the classroom and offered
Mrs. Jorgenson the choice between using pellet wax and a solid
block, and she didn’t disappoint me.

“
What’s the difference
between the two?” she asked.

I held up a bag of pearly white pellets.
‘These melt faster, and the results are the same as using wax you
break up yourself. I thought you might want to save some time
today.”

“
We’ll break the wax up
ourselves,” she said firmly. “No shortcuts, particularly the first
lesson, you know that, Harrison.”

“
Okay, here’s the best way
to do it.” I chose a heavy Mock of translucent wax, then grabbed a
flat screwdriver and a hammer. As I slipped on a pair of goggles
from the selection on the shelf behind me, I said, “The object here
is to break this block of wax up into small pieces so it melts
faster. I like to have chunks about the size of a fifty-cent piece
before I’m ready to melt.” I put the wax in a large plastic
container on the work table and gave it a few good whacks. Then I
retrieved one of the pieces and handed it to her. “That’s a good
size.” I started the water boiling on one of our hotplates and put
the double broiler on. “The wax melts in here,” I said as I added a
few of the chunks I’d freed. “It needs to be around two hundred
degrees before we’re ready to pour.”

Mrs. Jorgenson took one of the other pairs
of goggles and picked up the tools as if she’d been using them all
her life. She attacked that wax block like it owed her money. As I
added her shavings and scraps of wax to the double boiler, she
said, “I always thought each wax came to you tinted.”

I showed her an array of the blocks I’d
grabbed from one of our displays. “It’s a lot easier this way. You
can choose whatever color you like. You can even make your own
shade or hue, if you’re interested.”

“
One step at a time, Mr.
Black. Let’s make a basic poured candle first: no dyes, no
perfumes, no additives; just the wax and the wick.”

“
We can do that,” I said,
wondering why anyone would want to make such a simple candle,
though not surprised that Mrs. Jorgenson had chosen that route. I
showed her how to check the temperature of the wax with the candy
thermometer—we weren’t anywhere near where we needed to be yet—and
then I showed her how to coat the mold with release. She’d chosen a
small tin cone mold to start, one that came with its own
base.

“
And we just pour the wax
straight into it?”

I shook my head. “The wick goes in first.
Tie one end to this dowel stick. You can use a pencil if you don’t
have one of these handy. Now run the other end through the hole in
the base of the mold.” She tied the wick off, ran it through the
tin mold, then I handed her a ball of mold seal.

“
And this seal is for what
purpose?” she asked.

“
It keeps the wax from
running out the bottom. Get it tight. Is your wick directly in the
center of your mold?”

“
I think so,” she said as
she handed it to me to check.

I glanced at it, then handed it back to her
and said, “It looks good to me.”

“
What if it’s not in the
middle?” she asked.

“
It’ll be hard to change it
after the wax is poured,” I said with a grin, forgetting for a
moment her lack of a sense of humor. I added quickly, “To get an
even burn, you need the wick to be centered in the wax. Let’s check
that temperature again “

The thermometer read one hundred ninety
degrees. “That’s good enough.”

“
You said two hundred
earlier,” she protested.

“
It’s not an exact science,
there has to be some feel involved.”

She reached for the pot, but I stopped her
and said, “First let’s run some warm water over this jug before we
add the wax to it”

“
We don’t pour directly into
the mold?”

“
I suppose you could, but it
makes more sense to transfer the wax into something that’s designed
for pouring. The water warms the sides so the wax doesn’t cool too
quickly. Dry it off, that’s good. Now be careful, that wax will bum
you. Okay, that’s enough.”

She took the small jug now holding the wax
and said, “Any other advice before I begin?”

“
Pour it in slowly and try
not to spill any. Fill it about ninety percent full.” I watched
over her shoulder, and when she’d poured enough in, I said, ‘That’s
good. Okay, stop.”

“
That’s it?” she asked as
she studied the results. “Why didn’t we fill it completely to the
top?”

“
That will come later. Now
we have two options. We can let it cool overnight or we can rush
the next step by giving it a water bath.”

She frowned at the candle mold, then said,
“You know I like to take things in their own time.”

I didn’t say a word, and in a few seconds
she continued, “Oh, let’s skip ahead, I must confess I’m eager to
see how I’ve done.”

I knew from some of our past conversations
that Eve didn’t believe in water baths. She was very conservative
when it came to her candlemaking, but I’d been doing some reading
and a little experimenting on thy own, and I was ready to try it
with Mrs. Jorgenson.

“
Okay, get ready to put your
mold in the sink. Don’t forget to use the oven mitts, it’s hot. Let
me add some water to the sink first” The water came just about to
the level of the wax inside, with the rim of the mold keeping the
candle itself dry. I added a weight on top to hold the mold down,
then Mrs. Jorgenson said, “What do we do in the
meantime?”

“
Why don’t we pour another
candle? Would you like to make one with a few additions this
time?’

She frowned, then nodded slightly. “I
suppose some color would be nice. Let me see, a pleasant lavender
scent would add quite a bit to it, too. Perhaps a shell or two as
well?”

“
That’s the spirit. We’ve
got baskets of things you can put in your candle. Choose whatever
you like and I’ll get started on another batch of wax.”

By the time she finished pouring her second
candle, her first attempt had probably cooled enough for the next
step. I anchored her scented, colored, shelled candle in one of the
other sinks after filling it to the needed depth, then looked at
her first effort

She asked, “Is it ready?’

“
Not quite. Take this
wicking needle and poke some holes all around the wick.”

“
Won’t that make it ugly?”
she asked.

“
Remember,
this is going to be the bottom of the
candle. This lets the air pockets out If we don’t do this to
your candle, it might not burn properly. Don’t worry, we’ll cover
the holes completely in a second. I promise.”

After she was finished with that task, I
handed her the jug of original pristine wax I’d reheated and said,
“Fill it all the way up now, but be sure to stop before you get to
the top”

She did as she was told, and I explained,
“Now we put the weight back on and give it more time to cool.”

As she surveyed the candles in their
respective baths, she said, “It’s a little like making gel candles,
but pouring is a great deal more involved than rolling or dipping
candles, isn’t it?”

“
There are more steps, true,
but there are also more variations.” I’d read through half a dozen
of our books and had seen some marvelous candle creations. It was
amazing to me that anyone could make them, and I hoped to be good
enough some day to try my hand at all of them myself.

She glanced at her watch and said, “We’ve
been waiting some time now. Are they cool enough?”

“
Let’s check.”

The first mold was indeed cool to the touch.
“I think we’re ready. Would you like to take it out, or should
I?”

“
I’ll do it,” she said,
removing the weight and delicately pulling the mold out of the
water.

“
Okay. Take the mold seal
off the wide on the bottom first, then flip the candle over. It
should come right out in your hands.” At least I hoped it
would.

It slid out beautifully, landing in her hand
with alacrity.

After cutting off the wick bottom—which was
still wrapped tightly around the dowel—she held the candle up and
studied it closely. “What caused this, Harrison? Did I do something
wrong?”

I took the candle from her and saw a network
of cracks in the face of the candle. They gave the piece a certain
homemade look, but it was an appearance I was certain Mrs.
Jorgenson wouldn’t be pleased with.

“
Let me check something,” I
said, pulling out one of my reference books. I found the page on
water baths and said, “I’m guessing the bath water must have been
too cold. Sorry about that.”

“
It’s my fault,” she said.
“I shouldn’t have rushed the process.” Then she studied the candle
again and said, ‘To be honest with you, though, this presentation
is growing on me.”

“
It does have a certain
rustic charm, doesn’t it?”

She said sternly, “Not that I have any
desire to repeat the experiment.”

“
Of course not,” I quickly
agreed.

“
Is the other candle ready?”
she asked.

“
Let’s check on it.” The
cracks could have been disastrous, but it was pretty obvious Mrs.
Jorgenson wanted her candlemaking to succeed. That was something in
my favor, but I knew I didn’t have too many more grace periods
before she got fed up and moved on to another craft, blackballing
At Wick’s End along the way.

At least her second candle turned out
beautifully. Or so I thought

“
This one has pinpricks all
over it Oh, dear,” she said as I reached for another
manual.

I found the culprit right away. “Okay, the
wax was too hot that time.”

“
So much for the art of the
pour,” she said frostily.

I tried my best to grin. “Third time’s a
charm, they say. Shall we make another candle?”

“
It will have to be another
time,” she said. “I’m nearly out of time.”

“
Let’s at least finish off
the bottoms,” I said, desperate to salvage something out of the
session. I heated a small metal disk oil one-of the hot plates and
held the bases of both candles on it long enough to melt them into
perfect flat surfaces.