One Candle

by Gale Sears

  “No.” The word was soft, but clear. It made Albertina gasp and choke on some of her tears.

  “It was. It was my fault, my headstrong anger. I’m so sorry.”

  He frowned at her. “No.”

  She noticed that the right side of his face showed the emotion clearly, but there was also a tinge of expression on the left side as well. It was a good sign. “Father and Mother are so angry with me. They don’t say it, but they know it was my fault.” She dried some of her tears on her handkerchief. “Can you ever forgive me?”

  “Confession?”

  The word came slowly and was slightly slurred, but its unexpected advent made Albertina and Father Nathanael start. “Father Nathanael, did you hear?”

  “I did. Praise God, a long word!” He pressed his open Bible to his chest. “I knew your presence would be good for him, Albertina.”

  Albertina’s joyful expression moderated into thoughtfulness as she turned back to her uncle. “There . . . there is something I must tell you—something I’ve been keeping secret.”

  He laid his fingers on the back of her hand. “No need.”

  “There is a need,” she said softly. “I want my heart to be free of this.”

  He patted her hand. “Go on.”

  “You remember the music competition in Pinerolo?”

  A slight smile. “You won.”

  “Yes. Madeleine Cardon and I won.” She shifted in her seat. “At that time I had been listening to the missionaries and I was praying about what I should do.” She hesitated and took a breath. “I promised the Lord that if I won, I would be baptized . . . and . . .” she struggled with the words. “And I would use my part of the money to go to America, if my friend Madeleine went.”

  A look of fear crossed over Andrew’s face.

  “But I’m not going!” she said quickly. “I will never go! Never.” She looked straight into his eyes. “I promise, old bear. I will stay here and take care of you. I’ve made up my mind, so don’t worry. I will always be here with you and Mother and Father.”

  “And with me, Albi?”

  Albertina turned quickly and saw her brother at the door. “Yes, Joseph, especially with you.” He ran to her and she took him in her arms. “I need to stay and make sure you keep out of trouble.”

  “I don’t get into trouble,” he said indignantly. Albertina laughed and Andrew smiled. “Look! Uncle is better!”

  “Yes, he is better, but we must let him rest. Give him a little pat on the hand and then run along.”

  Joseph leaned over and laid his cheek on his great-uncle’s hand. “Get all better.”

  “Good boy.”

  Joseph stood quickly. “He talked!”

  “Yes, he talked. Now, off you go.”

  Joseph cupped his hands around his mouth and leaned towards his uncle. “I will come back again to talk to you,” he whispered.

  “Good.”

  Joseph beamed at his uncle as though he had just performed a feat of magic. “I will tell Mother you are better!” He turned and ran from the room.

  “Water,” Andrew said.

  Albertina reached over immediately and fetched the metal cup from the nightstand. “Here.” She helped him to drink. She wiped his face with a cloth when he was finished.

  “My cup.”

  “Yes. Father Nathanael brought it from the monastery.”

  “How long?”

  Guilt colored Albertina’s face and she lowered her head. “Nearly a week.”

  He struggled to formulate the words. “Look at me.” She looked up. “Not your fault.”

  “But—”

  “I am better.”

  “I am glad that you are better,” Albertina said, taking his hand. “And you must promise to stay with us.”

  “For now.”

  “For always.”

  He pointed at her. “You?”

  “Yes, there is nothing that could take me away from you.”

  “True.”

  The word in Father Andrew’s mind had been truth, but it had altered when it came from his mouth. Would the power of truth someday pull her away from him to a distant place? Andrew pushed the impression from his mind, as thinking of it dropped sadness into his chest. For now, his sweet songbird was staying. His fear took a step back. He gave Albertina’s hand a slight squeeze. “Song?”

  “I’ll try,” she said. “There may be too many tears.”

  “Try.”

  She nodded, and after taking time to calm her emotions, she began singing a simple hymn of gladness.

  Andrew closed his eyes and felt his burdens lift. His thoughts turned to gratitude. Thank you, Christ Jesus. Thank you for my Albertina. May she never leave me. A twinge of conscience pestered him. Perhaps for selfishness he was bending the Lord’s purpose, but surrounded by the tender comfort of the song, Andrew knew that he would not change his prayer.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  The Cardon Borgata, Angrogna Valley

  September 6, 1851

  “They had taken away their guns against the laws of America. The godless Colonel Pitcher forced the Mormon men of Jackson County to surrender their arms, promising that the weapons of the violent mob would suffer the same consequence.”

  “The Mormon men didn’t give them up, did they?” Stephen Malan called out.

  Madeleine and Albertina turned to look at him, both desiring the same information, but too shy to ask.

  Elder Woodard looked around at the young people seated together under the chestnut tree. Their faces held the memory of the slaughter and atrocities perpetrated against their own people, and Elder Woodard knew they wanted an answer of defiance. It was an answer he could not give them. “Trusting Colonel Pitcher’s word, they surrendered their guns.”

  “No! No! That was their mistake!” several young men yelled. “Those guns were their defense!”

  “What happened to them?”

  “What did the mob do?”

  Elder Woodard prayed for guidance. He’d wanted this time with the Waldensian youth to teach them of the similar sufferings that the Latter-day Saints experienced because of their witness for the truth. He had not anticipated how deeply the story of persecution would affect them, and how they would long for the details of the injustice. Elder Woodard reasoned that if they were going to align themselves with the Mormon faithful, they had to know the history.

  “I have been a member for two years,” he said, sitting on the ground with them. “And when I was investigating the Church and learning the history, I remember being horrified at what the Mormon people suffered. They came up against bigotry and violence for trying to live their faith.”

  “We understand violence,” Madeleine said solemnly.

  “Yes, you do,” Elder Woodard answered.

  “So what happened?” Stephen Malan pressed.

  “The mob, who had not had their guns taken away, went on a rampage. They were determined to drive the Saints from Jackson County. The mills, stores, and homes of the Mormons were destroyed—ransacked and burned. Some two hundred homes in one area were burned to the ground. The people were dragged from their houses and beaten, the women and children terrorized. Twelve hundred people were driven out.”

  Madeleine and Albertina moved closer together and took each other’s hands.

  “One group of a hundred and fifty women and children were forced out of their homes in the middle of the night. They walked thirty miles across a prairie in the month of November. The rough ground was thinly crusted with sleet.” Elder Woodard’s voice broke with emotion. “I’ve heard several brethren testify that you could easily follow their trail by the blood that flowed from their lacerated feet.”

  Madeleine’s heart jumped. Bloody footprints in the snow? It was her dream. Her stomach churned with anger and revulsion.

 
The group was silent, and Elder Woodard felt the Spirit guiding his thoughts in a new direction. “You are young, but many of you may have to face persecution if you join with this church.”

  “Many of us have already had persecution, Elder Woodard,” Stephen Malan said. “Just like you and the other missionaries, we have been humiliated and threatened. Some of us have even been knocked about.”

  “Perhaps it has always been the way of things,” Madeleine said sadly.

  Elder Woodard nodded. “Perhaps.” He studied the morose faces. “But the fire of adversity makes the strongest Saints. Look at Elder Snow and Elder Toronto.”

  “What about Elder Toronto?” the man himself said as he ducked under a low-hanging branch of the chestnut tree.

  Elder Woodard stood and took Elder Toronto by the hand. “I was just saying that adversity has made you strong.”

  “Well, adversity—and herding cattle on the open range.”

  Elder Woodard laughed. “That’s right. Brigham Young appointed you to be the cattle manager.”

  “Do you really know the prophet Brigham Young?” Stephen Malan asked.

  “I do. I lived with his family when we first came into the valley.”

  “And you believe him to be a prophet?”

  “I know him to be a prophet. It was revelation that had him leading the Saints after the death of Joseph.”

  “And did you know the Prophet Joseph Smith?”

  Elder Toronto shook his head. “No. I arrived a year after he’d been killed, he and Hyrum. But I knew their mother well. Sister Lucy Smith. Tiny woman.” He held up his hand to his chest. “Only came up to about here.” He smiled with the group. “But she was mighty in character and testimony. Even after she lost her boys she did not turn back.”

  “A lesson for all of us,” Elder Woodard said.

  “Is your meeting done, Brother Woodard? Because Sister Cardon sent me to bring you all to supper.”

  Madeleine Cardon jumped to her feet and grabbed Albertina’s hand. “Oh, no!”

  “Are you all right?” Brother Woodard asked.

  Madeleine was moving off, dragging Albertina with her. “Fine. Fine. I just forgot that we were supposed to help my mother serve!”

  The girls ran.

  “She won’t be very angry with us, will she?” Albertina asked. “I mean, we did help her bake thirty loaves of bread this morning.”

  The soup and bread had been served, the kitchen cleaned, and most of the people who had gathered for the re-union were on their way home. Albertina and Madeleine, now freed from their chores, hiked the trails and wandered the hillsides around the Cardons’ home. A slight breeze tousled their hair and played at the hems of their skirts. It had been a good day, and Albertina pondered many things as they hiked: the stories Elder Woodard shared, the image of Lucy Smith, and thoughts of Elder Toronto herding cattle across the American wilderness. What would it be like to hike for a thousand miles? She glanced at the sun lowering toward the western mountains.

  “How far are we going?” she called to Madeleine, who was outpacing her on the trail.

  Madeleine stopped. “I thought we’d go to the waterfall.”

  Albertina hesitated. “I need to be starting for home soon.”

  “It’s still light until late.”

  “Mother wants me home before nightfall. She doesn’t like me on the trail in the dark.”

  “There will be a moon tonight—besides, I hike the trails at night all the time.”

  “But you are Waldenese, aren’t you? I think your ancestors were taught to climb by the mountain sheep.”

  Madeleine started off. “We’ll just go to the stream, then.”

  Within a short time they came to an enchanting spot where a stand of pine trees surrounded a bend in the stream. The water tumbled over a shelf of rock into a shallow pool.

  “Ah, this is lovely,” Albertina sighed as she knelt to get a drink of water. She sat down on a flat rock near the edge of the stream, patting her face with the droplets on her hands.

  “Put your feet in,” Madeleine said.

  “It’s cold,” Albertina answered.

  “Not that cold.”

  Albertina watched as Madeleine removed her boots and stockings. “But I—”

  “It will feel good,” Madeleine coaxed. “Aren’t you warm from hiking?”

  Her skin did feel sticky, and after watching her friend slide her feet into the clear water, Albertina quickly followed her example, but while Madeleine walked around in the pool, Albertina dabbled her toes at the edge. She was enchanted by the flecks of sunlight playing on the water and the soft trill of birdsong.

  “It will be hard to leave this,” Madeleine said.

  She spoke so softly that Albertina wasn’t sure she’d heard all the words. “Did you say leave this?” Her friend did not answer. “Madeleine? What do you mean?”

  Madeleine made ripples in the water with her feet. “I knew I would have to talk about this sometime.”

  “About what?” Albertina’s heart was racing. “About what? Are you leaving?”

  “I heard Father and Mother talking the other day. There is a group of members who are thinking of going to America—to Salt Lake City. When we join the Church, we will go with them.”

  “When are they going?”

  “A year or so. We will need time to prepare.”

  Albertina was stunned. “That . . . that’s not possible. You have your family here—for generations . . . and your father’s work . . . and your property. And none of your family has joined the Church. Maybe you won’t join.”

  Madeleine came over and sat next to her. “My sweet friend, I have told you my dream about the coming of the evangelists and the message they bring. You know that my dream says we will join with this church and travel to a new country for the truth.”

  “But you haven’t joined! Maybe it’s not right. Maybe that’s why you’re waiting. Because you have questions.”

  “We are waiting for Elder Snow to return with the Book of Mormon so we can read its words. When we have done that, we will join.” She took Albertina’s hand. “The gospel they teach is true.” She looked straight into her friend’s face. “You know it’s true, Albertina.”

  “You could join and stay here. Your family would be a great strength to the Church here in the Piedmont.”

  Madeleine shook her head. “We will go.” She looked out to the hillside, the first tinges of autumn coloring the edges of the leaves. “You could come with us.”

  Albertina gasped. “I can’t! You know I can’t! I have to take care of my uncle.”

  “But he is doing much better, isn’t he? He was out sitting in the garden the last time I visited you.”

  “Yes, but he is still fragile. I have to help him with his memory, and doing his daily tasks.”

  “And . . . you promised him you wouldn’t leave.”

  Albertina began crying. “Yes, I promised. I promised. I won’t leave him or my family. I can’t.”

  “And you will not join the Church.”

  “No.”

  “Albertina—”

  “No, I won’t! Don’t you understand? I would be giving up everything.”

  Madeleine took her hand. “I do understand. I do understand, my dear friend. Do you think it will be easy to leave everything we’ve ever known, our beautiful mountains, our lives, and our Waldensian faith? Where are we going? To an unknown wilderness.” She stood and walked back into the water. “An unknown wilderness.”

  “Then why would you go?”

  Madeleine took a deep breath. “Remember the story Elder Woodard told of the women and children walking over the snow-crusted ground? Their feet bloody from the walking?”

  “Yes.”

  “Years ago I had a dream about those women and children. A nightmare abou
t bloody footprints in the snow. When Elder Woodard told the story, I knew it was true. I knew those women had taken their children and fled into the wilderness.” Madeleine closed her eyes and shook her head. “Why didn’t they give up? Why didn’t they just go back to their old lives where they had comfort and security?” Madeleine took a step forward. “Because they knew it was true. A light had been placed in their hearts, Albertina—a light that would never go out. So no matter what they were asked to go through or give up, they would do it. They would not go back.”

  Albertina stood slowly, picking up her boots and socks. Her voice, when it came, was low and pointed. “I have to go home now.” She wiped the tears away with the sleeve of her dress. “I know why you’re saying these things, Madeleine. I know what you’re asking me to do, but I can’t.”

  “Albertina—”

  “No. Please do not ask me again, Madeleine. I understand that you must stay with your family, but so must I. I must honor my father and my mother.” She walked out of the shade of the trees and into the grassy meadow. She saw the sun sinking toward the mountaintop and hurried her pace. She longed to turn around and call out words of affection, but things had changed between her and her childhood friend, and Albertina did not know the new words of closeness. She set her face towards home and did not turn back.

  Notes

  The scenes of violence against the Latter-day Saint people in Jackson County and many other places where the Saints resided are well documented in journals, newspaper reports, and other chronicles.

  The Borgata Cardon, the ancestral home of Philippe Cardon, sits high in the mountains above San Secondo. At some point Philippe Cardon moved his family down the mountain nearer to the village of San Secondo. I have placed the home as having closer access to the Angrogna Valley and the town of Torre Pellice to accommodate the friendship between Madeleine and Albertina and the Cardon family’s interaction with the Mormon missionaries who were located in Torre Pellice.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  London, England

  December 10, 1851

  My Dear and Highly Regarded Sister,