A Flicker of Doubt - Tim Myers [17]
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