As I approached the shop, the familiar scent of beeswax and tallow greeted me, mingling with the crisp autumn air. The bright yellow sign that read "R. Hargrove & Sons - Candle Makers" swayed gently in the breeze, a reminder of the countless hours my father and I had spent here, crafting each candle by hand.
I tied my horse to the weathered wooden post outside, the familiar sound of hooves clopping against the cobblestones echoing in my ears. Pushing through the door, I was immediately enveloped in warm light, the soft glow of countless candles illuminating the space. My father stood behind the counter, his hands busy pouring wax into molds.
“Ah, Clara! Just in time,” he said without looking up, his voice deep and comforting. “How many more dresses are we working on?”
“Maybe two dozen,” I replied, moving closer to the counter. “With the festival coming up, it seems everyone is eager for new gowns. We’ll need at least a dozen more candles to light our way through the evenings.”
“Then we best get started,” he said, finally meeting my gaze with a twinkle of excitement in his eye. “Would you help me prepare the wax? We’ll need to melt down some more before the day is out.”
Together, we moved to the back of the shop, where large pots of wax bubbled over a roaring fire. As I stoked the flames and watched the golden liquid begin to swirl, my imagination drifted to the dresses we would create—delicate lace, vibrant fabrics, and intricate embroidery. Each gown would tell a story, just as the flickering candlelight would illuminate them, casting enchanting shadows across our workshop.
“Father,” I said hesitantly, “do you think we’ll have enough time to finish all the candles before the festival?”
He chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “With your help, Clara, we should manage just fine. Besides, the joy of creation always seems to speed up time. Now, grab the wick supplies while I stir this wax, will you?”
As I gathered the materials, I felt a swell of pride. The shop was more than just a workplace; it was a haven of creativity, a place where dreams took shape, and the bond between father and daughter strengthened with every flicker of flame. Together, we would light the way for the community, one candle at a time.
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