"SO MUCH LIGHT FROM JUST ONE LITTLE CANDLE."
TIA ROSA'S CANDLE: A Christmas Miracle
By Phaedra Greenwood
The power had been out all night and the white breath of winter had
frosted all the windows with delicate scrolls and swirls. Leandra
hurried into her jeans and T-shirt. She had to catch her parents
before they left the house.
“Good morning, Dad,” she said as she slipped into her chair at
the kitchen table. Her black-eyed handsome father ruffled her hair.
“Morning, hita. Better fill up on my pancakes.” He flipped a
couple onto her plate.
Her mother plunked the syrup down in front of her father.
“What happened to the headlight on your truck?”
He sat down and dug into his stack of pancakes. “I hit a
Christmas tree.”
“What! And you didn't bring it home?”
“I wasn't quick enough. When traffic stopped at the blinking
light this tree rolled out of the bed of someone's truck right into
my bumper. Some guy pulled over behind me, tossed the tree in his
trunk and tore off.”
“That's the Christmas spirit or you,” her mother said.
Leandra wiped her mouth. “Dad, can you take me to San
Cristobal today? I need to deliver a present to Tia Rosa.” She had
made a rainbow-colored candle in school.
Her dad frowned. “Why do you call her tia? She's not your
aunt.”
“Everyone calls her that. When I was in grade school she came
to all our classes and told stories. She's out of firewood. Could we
take her some?”
Her mom and dad exchanged a look.
Her mom shook her head. “We don't know her. She's not from
here. Why should we help her?”
“Mom! She's 82 years old. She's all alone. And it's Christmas.”
Her dad said, “I was going for another load of wood before the
next storm blocks the road. But now I have to drive into town and
get that headlight fixed.”
Leandra looked up at her elegant mother who was wearing her
leather coat and a sparkling Christmas pin on her lapel. Her mother
held up both hands. “I have too many errands, and I have to deliver
presents, too.”
Leandra ran outside to her brother who was scraping the frost
from the windshield of his black Trans Am. “Gilbert, will you take
me to San Cristobal today?”
“Me? Tonight is Christmas Eve. I've got some heavy shopping
to do at Wal-Mart. Feed the pony, will
you? I gotta run.”
“I will if you let me ride him.”
“He's too wild for you, pipsqueak. Maybe next year when you're
15.”
Gilbert's car disappeared down the driveway in a cloud of
exhaust before Leandra could launch a snowball at him.
* * *
Late afternoon, and still no one had come home. The cookies
were all baked, the presents wrapped and set under the tree. For two
hours Leandra had been watching a pile of navy blue clouds roll in
from the west. The temperature was dropping fast and the radio was
predicting 10 inches of snow. She thought of Tia Rosa as she had
last seen her, wrapped in her red wool shawl, her face pale, huddled
in an armchair beside the cold stove. She had been sick for several
days. When Leandra tried to call her the phone rang into the silence.
The girl pulled on her warm down jacket, wool mittens and a
furry hat and went out to pace up and down on the porch. “Tia Rosa
will think I've forgotten her. Gotta get going. Gotta go.”
Gilbert's pony whinnied and trotted
up to the gate. She could see
herself riding five miles over the mesa through the National Forest to
San Cristobal. “Okay for you, Buddy,” she called. “Tonight
you're going to earn your oats.”
She stowed Tia Rosa's candle and some homemade biscochitos
in her backpack, snagged a packet of matches—just in case—and
left a note for her parents. She lured Buddy with a can of oats and
got the bridle on him, but he wouldn't hold still for the saddle. She
eased the reins over his neck, climbed up on the fence and slipped
on his back.
Her heart skipped faster as he danced sideways and tossed his
head, then broke into a trot. He cantered twice around the corral and
halted as she pulled in the reins.
“Gilbert will kill me,” she muttered as she patted the pony's
neck and unlatched the gate. “But what if Tia Rosa is feeling
worse? What if she's …?
She swallowed hard and shook off the thought as she followed
the old wagon road up the hill. The setting sun rimmed the lavender
mountains with fire. When she looked back from the top of the mesa
she could see the solid outline of the adobe church, Our Lady of the
Sorrows, down in the village, the tin roof white with snow and a row
of farolitos along the outside wall already glowing with candles.
Inside they would be decorating the altar with red poinsettias, getting
ready for midnight Mass.
From the top of the mesa, she thought she heard the bells of San
Geronimo Church at Taos Pueblo. She paused for a moment to
watch black plumes of smoke from the Christmas Eve bonfires
rolling toward the sky. Soon the men would carry the Virgin on her
platform around the Pueblo, in her shining white dress under the
billowing canopy. Leandra could almost hear the insistent beat of the
drums, the sharp gunshots, and smell the pungent piñon smoke.
Half an hour later the snow began to fall with a hissing spit;
little balls of corn snow danced off her sleeves. The wind picked up;
her teeth chattered and the knot in her stomach grew into a large,
black fist as darkness closed around her. No lights were visible
anywhere; even the mountains seemed to have been swallowed by
the storm.
This is dumb, she thought. I should turn back. I could be riding in
circles.
A long shadow crossed the snow ahead of her. The hair on the
back of her neck rose. Coyote? She had often heard their wild
howling in the hills at dawn. Her dad said they could bring down a
wounded deer. But they'd never attack a human? Would they?
Buddy's ears twitched; he stopped short. “What is it?” she
whispered, straining to see through the inky darkness. The pony
nickered, backed with nervous steps and pawed the snow. She
gripped him with her knees and clung to his mane. If she lost her seat
now she'd be lost for sure.
From some uncertain place beyond the trees came a loud,
tortured scream. Buddy leapt into the air as if he had been shot.
Leandra flew off and landed in the snow. “Buddy! Come back!
Come back!” she called as he disappeared into the shadows.
She sat still, afraid to move, afraid to breathe. She knew that
weird scream, though she'd never heard it before. Her dad had
described it to her—a cry higher and longer and more shrill than any
coyote—the scream of a mountain lion.
“Madre de Dios,” she whispered. Her heart was beating so loud
she clutched her fists to her chest, imagining a flying fury of teeth
and claws knocking her flat. The wind blasted her left cheek. A
violent shiver ran through her. What could save her? Her fingers
brushed the strap of her pack. Tia Rosa's candle! She tugged off her
mittens, opened her pack. She seized the candle, tore off the
wrapping paper and plunked it upright in the snow.
With shaking hands she struck her flimsy matches one after
another. And watched them fizzle. Only one left. She thought of her
mom and dad, worried, waiting. Maybe even looking for her. She
thought of Tia Rosa. Hot tears streaked her face. Would they find
her on Christmas Day, a dark lump among the trees, drifted over with
snow?
“Dear Lord, help me!” she prayed. “Help!”
The wind died to a strange stillness. With trembling fingers she
scratched the last match. A spurt of orange flame. She touched it to
the wick. It caught, snapped and flared, then and settled to a steady
glow.
She drew a long breath and let it out. “Thanks,” she said softly.
“Thank you.”
She stood up, holding the candle above her. The glow seemed to
expand with an overwhelming radiance that dispelled all the
shadows as far as she could see. How could so much light come
from one little candle? Dumb with wonderment, she followed
Buddy's deep tracks. Behind a big cedar tree he stood waiting with a
drooping head and apologetic look. She caught his reins and led him
toward a pinpoint of yellow light that shone from a distant hillside in
San Cristobal.
* * *
As she swung open the door, Tia Rosa's face lit up in a beautiful
smile. “Thank God you're safe! I saw your light 10 minutes ago. I
knew it was you.”
Leandra handed her the glowing candle. “Merry Christmas, Tia
Rosa.”
The old woman wrapped one fleshy arm around Leandra and
kissed her cheek. “Thank you, sweetheart. For the brave journey. For
being part of my life. Come in. I made hot chocolate. Your mom is
on her way over to get you. Buddy can stay overnight in the shed.”
Cuddling her mug of hot chocolate, Leandra snuggled into the
sagging couch beside the old woman. “It was a miracle,” she said.
As Leandra told her story Tia Rosa's blue eyes sparkled, the cat
purred in Leandra's lap and the chairs and table leaned in close to
hear every word.
When she had finished, Leandra blinked and sat up straight. She
pointed to the snapping fire in the wood stove. “Tia, I thought you
were out of wood.”
The old woman got up to shove another piñon log in the
dancing flames, then sank back on the couch. “I had a miracle, too. A
man stopped by with such a heavy load of wood, he said he was
afraid it would break the axle of his truck. He asked if he could leave
half of it with me. He told me to use as much as I needed. While he
stacked the wood, he told me a funny story about how he ran into a
Christmas tree.”
Leandra squeezed Tia Rosa's wrinkled hand. “That was my
dad.”
Tia Rosa laughed with delight. “When your mother called to see
if you were here, she invited me to join your wonderful family for
Christmas dinner.”
“Perfect! Mom is a great cook. I want you to meet my family.
Tell them a Christmas story.”
“I know just the one,” Tia Rosa said.
Leandra sighed and wriggled her toes. In the golden glow of the
candle, everything from the old three-legged wood stove to the
steaming cups in their hands seemed transfigured with beauty and
grace.
Tia Rosa stroked back a glossy strand of Leandra's hair. “So
much light,” she said, “from just one little candle.”
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