Snuffed Out - Tim Myers [13]
“Goodness no, she took a day off now and then. She said she had to or she’d go stir crazy.”
“I’m getting a little antsy myself,” I admitted. “I haven’t missed a minute of work since I took over, and it’s starting to get to me. I’m thinking about cutting out at four, if you wouldn’t mind.”
“Mind? Why should I mind, Harrison? It’s your shop, after all. I’ll be fine on my own.”
She sounded almost eager to get me out of there, but I wasn’t going to push it. Eve could probably use the space as much as I could. Though she’d been a godsend teaching me about candles, I was certain she longed for a little quiet time at work just waiting on customers and not educating her new boss.
I was just getting ready to grab some lunch when Mrs. Jorgenson walked into At Wick’s End.
“Good morning,” she said brusquely. “I assume you’re ready for me.”
I nodded, too surprised to say a word. So she’d come back after all. Eve started to greet her, caught one look at the expression on her face and stepped back into the storeroom where she’d been preparing an order.
I’d never gotten around to cleaning up from the day before, so the table looked as if I’d set it out fresh just for her. Before I could say a word, Mrs. Jorgenson said, “I must apologize for my behavior yesterday. I didn’t realize until I arrived at the store that our lesson wasn’t until today. I must have written it down wrong in my book. I’ve been doing that more and more lately. Too much on my mind, I suppose.”
“No harm done,” I said, ready to accept her fabrication if it meant keeping her coming back. “So, are you ready to get started learning a new technique today?”
“I’m quite excited, actually,” she said. “How do we begin?”
I got out an old shoebox and handed her a hammer and screwdriver, along with a hefty block of translucent wax. She asked, “What happened to the plastic bags?”
“This system works a lot better,” I said. I’d stumbled across it in one of my books and had found it to be much more effective than using a plastic bag to break up the wax in. “Chisel off small chunks,” I ordered as I went over my supplies again. Mrs. J took the safety glasses and slid them into place, then attacked the wax with glee. She was enjoying it a little too much, and I realized she was getting out a lot of aggression. Good for her; it was the cheapest therapy I’d ever heard of.
When she had enough wax chipped off the main body, I stopped her, but not until she’d given it a few extra whacks. I pulled out what remained of the block and broke up a few of the larger chunks, then slid the fragments into the double boiler.
As the wax started to melt, I asked, “Would you like to add color and fragrance, or will we be making the economy model today?”
“Harrison, you know I always start with the basics. What do we do next?”
I measured out some wick and said, “The first few times it might be better to do single tapers, just until you get the hang of it.” I’d laid out some of my earlier efforts and showed her what I’d done. She picked up a few of the singles, then examined a double I’d done in beeswax. I could tell she wanted to jump a few steps, something I would have been delighted to do, but her analytical approach held fast as she put the candles back on the tabletop.
“Where do we begin?”
I peered inside the double boiler, then said, “It looks good. Let’s get started.”
“Shouldn’t we check the temperature first?”
I looked at the pool of melted wax. It looked exactly like water, and the first time I’d done it I thought my double boiler must have been leaking. “It looks just right to me.”
I took a pot of boiling water off another burner and poured it into a stainless steel cylinder I used as a dipping can.
“You put water in there first?” she asked, incredulous.
“Absolutely. Now we add the wax.” I gently eased the melted wax into the container, with Mrs. Jorgenson close enough to breathe my air. After close examination, she said, “I can’t see a difference. Did it all mix together?”
“Look at the sides of the container. You can see the