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The night air still smelled faintly of white-flowering currant as Johnny wandered back to the house, trying to shake off the melancholy that had dogged him all day. A flash from the front window caught his eye. He turned to see a new candle glowing there with Murdoch behind it, shaking the flame off a match.
Quickening his steps, Johnny stepped through the French doors. At the sound of his son’s spurs Murdoch turned quickly away from the candle. The match still glowed.
“Johnny, I thought you’d gone upstairs.” Murdoch sounded like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
“Hey, Murdoch. No, I was just out getting some air…” Johnny’s words drifted away as he took in his father’s face. He wasn’t prepared for the sadness he saw there, for the indecision that quickly replaced it.
He’d only known his father for a few months and he’d never seen the man be anything but strong and confident. This unsure Murdoch was something new. Like a flighty horse, Murdoch looked like he wanted to bolt.
Johnny tipped his head towards the candle. “That some Christmas tradition up here?”
“Not exactly.” Murdoch pursed his lips and fixed his attention on Johnny. Johnny returned the look for a moment before his eyes drifted back to the candle. That was his way with skittish animals — avert your gaze and wait for it to decide to trust you.
And finally, Murdoch did. “I’ve lit a candle on this night every year since your mother took you away.”
Johnny drew in a sharp breath, but he didn’t reply. After a long pause, Murdoch continued.
“That very first night I hoped she might return, and I wanted her to know she was welcome to come back. I lit a candle in this window every night from then until Christmas. Even when I admitted to myself that she wasn’t coming back, I still lit candles from the thirteenth until Christmas. I wanted my son—you—I wanted you to know you were always welcome to come back home.”
When Johnny spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. “Today’s her birthday. She never said we…she never said anything about it happenin’ on her birthday.”
Murdoch shook his head. “I didn’t throw her out, John. God knows I didn’t throw you out. Teresa said you thought…for all these years, you thought…”
Johnny took a step closer to his father. “My mother wasn’t always…truthful, I guess you could say.” His chin came up and he looked straight at Murdoch. “One thing I’ve learned about you, old man, is that you don’t lie.”
Together they watched the candle flicker as if it held the answer they both sought. Finally Johnny clapped his father lightly on the shoulder and started upstairs. He turned back with his foot on the first riser.
“Murdoch? I’m here now, and Scott’s back too. Why’re you lighting that candle tonight, then?”
Murdoch turned back to the window. “Because it’s her birthday,” he said.
End
December 2013
by Doc