A candle flickered on a cast-iron votive stand, and hands clasped, Mildred stood, gazing into a flame.
“That ol’ stand makes me shudder,” a voice said, and Mildred glanced over a shoulder at a girl seated on a wooden staircase.
“Sure, it’s in y’all’s cellar, but do you have to keep it?” the girl said.
“If we threw it out, my grandfather would roll over in his grave.”
“But he was a priest, wasn’t he? So, how mad would he get?”
Mildred sighed. “Joan, can I help with something?”
“Not really.” Joan descended the staircase, crossed the cellar, and examined the stand and then took-up a short, unlit candle. “Who was this for?”
Mildred snatched the candle and placed it on the stand. “Doesn’t have to be for a particular person.”
“Then why have so many?”
“What?!”
“Well, at my cathedral, prior to mass, some parishioners visit a stand like this, light a candle, and pray.”
“So?”
“When they do, it’s often to remember someone who’d died.” Joan gasped, pointed at the lit candle. “Wait, I’m sorry—I didn’t know.”
“Didn’t know what?!”
“Only I am curious: was it someone I knew? I only ask because I’d like to pray for them, as well.”
Mildred rolled her eyes, shoved Joan toward the staircase. “Come on, let’s sit outside on the porch, get some fresh air.”
“Well, what about the candle—aren’t you going to blow it out? Ever heard of a fire hazard?”
“The candle will be alright.”
The girls climbed the staircase.